Sunday, Bloody Sunday
by Indarae
Summary: After years of self-imposed exile, Harry is drawn back into a web of death, betrayal, and loss - all centering on the actions of Draco Malfoy, Hermione, and the Weasleys. Now complete, with new Author Note.(Post-Hogwarts)(G/D, Hr/Ge, H/OC, R/Hr)
1. Prologue - Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Disclaimer: I wish they were mine, but they're not!

A/N: The idea was tossed into my head while listening to U2's "Sunday, Bloody Sunday". I'd suggest listening to the aforementioned song, if at all possible, while reading. If not... check it out sometime! 

Prologue - Sunday, Bloody Sunday

"And the battle's just begun,

There's many lost, but tell me who has won?

The trenches dug within our hearts,

And mother's children, brother's, sister's torn apart !"

-U2, "Sunday, Bloody Sunday"

Sunday, October 28, 2001

There were bodies scattered on the ground around his feet. For a moment, he couldn't remember what side he was supposed to be on. A flash of red on the ground, a scarf? Draco grabbed it up. Red and gold stripes, the colors of Gryffindor. Somewhere in the mass of dead, might there be someone he'd known at school?

None of the others were watching him, they were making sure the dead were really such. Yes... there was someone, probably the owner of the bloody scarf he'd clutched to his chest. He knelt next to the body, appearing emotionless.

His name had been Neville, Draco remembered after a moment's thought. He'd been terrible at potions; the one Professor Snape had picked on for the seven years the Slytherins had shared the class with the Gryffindors. It seemed like just yesterday that the poor git had melted his umpteenth cauldron, to the dismay of Severus Snape. Yesterday, not three years of bloody Sundays ago.

It had become tradition, almost, the Sunday attacks. At first, it had been because the average wizard spent the morning sleeping in, much like his Muggle counterparts. It had been easy to take them unawares, finish the killing quickly, and shoot off the Dark Mark into the sky. Fast enough to be home to the wife and kids in time for breakfast. 

The ease of the Sunday morning massacres hadn't lasted long. Soon enough, the magical community got the hint and was on guard for the next attacks, but somehow the Sunday morning combat had become a part of the Death Eater mystique. The Ministry knew they'd be attacked each Sunday, but they never knew where, or what the cost.

Draco stared at the scarf. It was ripped in a few places; stained and discolored from the use it had seen since it was first issued to Neville, almost ten years earlier. Sure, there were other bloody, now ownerless pieces of clothing lying around, dropped by their owners before the Death Eaters appeared on the streets of Hogsmeade, a half an hour earlier. 

He glanced up again. There had probably been fifteen or twenty people eating breakfast at the Three Broomsticks, that morning. Neville had been sitting alone, and from the dumb stare of shock on his still face, he'd probably been one of the first to die. The side of his head was bleeding; he'd probably been tortured too. Sent tumbling to the ground with a Cruciatus or something equally vile. Maybe Draco had been the one to do it. There were so many, he couldn't remember anymore. 

The first time he'd gone home following a bloody Sunday morning, he'd felt something. He could remember the face of every man and woman he'd faced that day, even if it was two years in the past. And the next week, and the next... but soon the faces blurred, were indistinct. He'd killed a Weasley, that one he remembered. And the Irishman, another Gryffindor from his year, he couldn't even remember the man's name. When had he stopped remembering each one? When had he stopped keeping tally?

The Dark Mark began to burn slightly on his arm, just enough for him to notice. As Draco glanced up, he saw the others of his group disapparating one by one. He reached out and closed Neville's sightless eyes. When his family found him, at least he would be dignified. Not like some of the others Draco had left behind.

He stood and surveyed the rubble of the morning. Madame Rosmerta was back in the corner, slumped dead over her bar. Draco had dozens of good memories from this place... why couldn't he think of them? All he could see now were the puddles of blood on the floor and the dead, lying how they fell, shock and fear written eternally into each face. 

He heard a crunch behind him and, wand held at the ready, whirled around. A frightened looking woman had stepped on a broken glass tankard; her foot was still in the pool of butterbeer next to the patron's confused and blank stare. She backed up, hitting a chair and table, eyes wide in apprehension.

The goal was to leave none able to tell the story of what had happened on another bloody Sunday. Draco looked down at the tattered Gryffindor scarf still clutched in his hands. She stared at it too. She was so familiar to him... curly red hair, another Weasley. He'd killed a Weasley. He could kill another, couldn't he?

Draco took a step toward her, and she backed away, tripping on the chair. Barely able to maintain her balance, she stood tall, head held high. The fear changed to acceptance. She spoke; none of his victims had done anything but plead and moan. "Go on. If you're going to do it, just get it over with."

Ginny. Ginny was her name. Didn't she recognize him? Oh... the mask. Draco slowly reached up, no longer leaving his wand trained on her, and pulled off the black hood, trademark of the Death Eaters. "Were you here with Neville? With Longbottom?"

She stared in shock at his face. She was going to cry, he was sure of it. He couldn't stand it when they cried. But then she didn't. She didn't even sneer at him, or mock him, as her brother and Potter had been so good at, years ago. She just nodded and said simply, "Yes. I was here with Neville."

Draco stepped forward, noting that she no longer backed away. Was the mask the only thing frightening about him? "Where's the glory in all this?" Draco murmured to himself. There they all were, bloody and dead under the rubble of this place of his childhood. What did it mean? 

He held out the scarf, offering it to her. She took it hesitantly, a flash of gold and diamond visible on her finger. Clutching the scarf to her chest, she looked to the side, spotting Neville lying in the rubble. "Why?" she whispered, holding the Gryffindor colors to her like a lifeline.

"I don't know anymore," he admitted. Draco stepped back, smashing a bottle under his feet. He could hear a shout outside, the sound of the Aurors arriving. The Dark Mark burned harder, his final warning to get out before he joined his father in Azkaban. 

But he didn't apparate to Malfoy Manor, where the ranks of Death Eaters would be waiting to report to Voldemort. He knew of one other who'd felt what he now did. Leaving Ginny Weasley staring after him impassively, he dropped the Death Eater hood and ran for the back door. The Aurors wouldn't come there; they'd take the front. As in all the other bloody Sundays, the Death Eaters responsible would be gone when the law arrived, no one to take the blame.

Unlike the other bloody Sundays of the years past, one would survive and another would be changed. 

Draco ran through the forest, the paths he knew well from skulking around and meeting his fellow Death Eaters during his last year of school. He ran blindly, feet knowing exactly where to take him. Past the lake, past the Groundskeeper's home, past the greenhouses where he'd spent hours of detention with Professor Sprout. She'd died the same day as Trellawney, who hadn't foreseen her own death. He shocked a group of first-years roaming the grounds, pushed past the fearful professor who trailed the known Death Eater.

He wouldn't make it there, not alive. Not before someone managed to shoot off a curse and stop him. Past the stairway down to the dungeons, the Slytherin home. The gargoyle opened as he approached, as if they knew he'd be coming that day. But maybe they had, he'd known everything else when Draco had been at school.

Professor Snape, looking old and tired, stepped forward, nearly crashing into Draco. Dumbledore was there too, just inside the door of his office. He could take him now, get rid of him, just like Voldemort wanted. Snape moved to sacrifice himself for the Headmaster's life, but Draco knocked him aside as if the Potions Master weighed nothing at all.

Draco threw his wand to the side and collapsed to his knees in front of the old man, whose eyes were just as kindly as they'd been on the day Draco had arrived at Hogwarts. He didn't dare look up into the Headmaster's face; the guilt was too much. "Forgive me," he whispered.


	2. How Long Must we Sing this Song?

A/N: I wasn't intending to continue this, until I was hit by the most interesting idea... well, interesting to ME anyways! Enjoy!

Chapter One — How Long Must We Sing This Song?

"I can't believe the news today,

I can't close my eyes, make it go away.

How long, how long must we sing this song?

How long, how long?"

-U2, "Sunday, Bloody Sunday"

Saturday, October 25, 2003

He was being followed, as he slipped invisibly down the dungeon corridor of Hogwarts. He wasn't sure whom Voldemort had sent to keep watch on him, but it was becoming clear that his cover was about to be blown wide open. _Do I try to repair my cover and risk death, or do I get off the job right now, change my name, and disappear_, Draco mused. In his two years of spying for Dumbledore, since the fateful day he'd been responsible for his classmate's death, he'd been able to warn countless others. A dozen or so Death Eaters had been killed by their Master in an attempt to smoke out the turncoat, but no one dared suggest that Draco Malfoy, a member of Voldemort's Inner Circle, would be the one to turn. After all, the manor he'd inherited when his father, Lucius Malfoy, had suicided in Azkaban the previouis year had been given as a gift to the cause.

He shouldn't be attending the meeting this night, but not attending would mean the death of a legend, the man who'd given him a second chance. Draco dropped the invisibility glamour as he approached the door to the Potions laboratory, pondering how to pass on his message without alerting the wizard on his tail. A footstep sounded in the corridor — was his tail really THAT pathetic? — and Malfoy had turned to face the sound with his wand in hand before he'd really had time to think about it.

A shocked woman stared back at him, short and rather plain looking with her brown hair twisted into a severe plait. To make it worse, she recognized him from somewhere. "Draco Malfoy...? What in the bloody hell are you doing at Hogwarts? I thought you were -" She gulped, eyes widening rather dramatically.

Before she could reach her wand, Draco had already shouted out, "_Ligare ceruchus,_" which caused a length of rope to shoot from the tip of his wand and bind her hands behind her. She let out the beginning of a shriek, which Draco quickly put a stop to by clamping his hand over her mouth. "Scream and it's the last thing you'll do. Understand?" At the woman's nod, he continued. "Who the hell are you?"

Removing his hand from over her mouth, he grabbed her upper arm and kept moving toward the Potions room. She answered indignantly, anger flashing in her eyes. "I'm not good enough to be recognized by the Amazing Bouncing Ferret, then?"

"Granger," he snarled, opening the door of the laboratory and shoving her inside. He quickly closed the door behind the both of them, hoping his act would keep the man following him from seeing anything. "You've managed to put yourself in the middle of something you shouldn't be involved in — yet again. Congrats, Granger, you get to be a hostage."

Draco clamped his hand back over her mouth before she had the chance to respond and dragged her in the direction of Snape's office. The commotion had most likely awakened the Potions Master, as the office door flew open before Draco had the chance to kick at it. Wrapped in a long, Slytherin-green robe, the annoyance on Snape's face slowly changed to alarm. "Malfoy, let the Professor go." Draco's silver eyes met Snape's calculating black. The message was clear to both, time to brush up on the acting skills.

"Granger? A Mudblood professor? I'm ashamed I went to school here, Severus." Hermione struggled valiantly at Draco's remark. With an inward wince, Draco moved his hand from her mouth to her throat, wrapping his fingers around her neck in warning. "Don't even think about it, Granger. I can arrange for you to be the first of your friends to meet Potty's parents first-hand."

"Draco, just let her go. It's me you're after. You found out about the spy, didn't you." Snape stepped forward slowly, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Let her go and I'll tell you who it is."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock — obviously Dumbledore hadn't made her partial to secrets of his resistance against Voldemort. "Don't tell him anything, Profes -" She gurgled loudly as Draco's grip on her throat tightened by more than a little.

"You'll be telling me whether or not I let her go. Get the veritaserum from your top right shelf, now. It had better be the real bottle — and I promise you, I know which bottle that is — or she's dead." An empty threat, of course, but only Snape was aware of it.

The impassive expression on Snape's face remained, but he and Draco had planned for any possible interruption in their business over the years. Today would be a real chance, but the only one that could save Draco's position, and possibly his life. Snape stepped back into his office and Draco clamped his hand over Hermione's mouth again, lowering his mouth to her ear, trying to keep a cruel smirk plastered on his face. "Listen carefully, and pretend I'm telling you how I'm going to torture you or something like that. I'm going to slip a parchment into your pocket, which MUST get to Dumbledore before Sunday morning. Act well your part, I've been followed." 

Luckily, the shock in her eyes could be attributed to whatever horrible things he'd supposedly told her. Draco moved his face back a bit, covering the movement of his free hand by shifting his whole body a bit. "How would you like me to do that, Granger?" The delivery completed, he moved his wand back into his hand.

Finally grasping how delicate the situation was — or maybe just angry over being ordered around — Hermione launched into her role and sunk her teeth into Draco's hand savagely. Howling in a pain which wasn't at all pantomimed, he yanked his hand away from her mouth and slammed his fist into her stomach, sending her crumpling to the ground in a gasp for breath. He'd meant to pull the punch, but after the damage to his hand, she really did deserve it.

Draco kept his wand trained on the door to Snape's office, waiting for the rest of the well-planned scene to act itself out. True to the script, Snape came barreling around the door, shouting a complex spell. Draco's swift "_Stupefy!_" sent the dark-haired man crumpling to the ground. Time to make his escape, then. Someone was sure to have heard his yelp of pain.

With a barely contained sneer of distaste, Draco wiped the blood from his hand onto Hermione's sleeve. "Watch out, Mudblood. If you try something like that again, there will be more consequences to deal with than a few bruises." To emphasize his dual points, Draco leveled a kick at her spine and cast the glamour over himself again. Invisible, he made his escape from Hogwarts, hoping desperately that his message would reach its recipient.


	3. Weep, O Mine Eyes

A/N: Once more into the breach - yet another chapter. And I want to apologize for killing off Neville... I rather like him myself. Draco just wouldn't let him live, I'm afraid. Anyways... on with the show!

Chapter Two — Weep, O Mine Eyes

"Weep, O mine eyes, and cease not.

Alas, these your spring tides, me thinks increase not.

Oh, when begin you to swell so high that I may drown me in you?"

-The King's Singers, "Weep, O Mine Eyes"

Tuesday, October 28, 2003

Ginny waved to Percy's secretary as she came back from lunch in Diagon Alley. "Nancy, did Perce- erm, did Undersecretary Weasley leave any memos for me?" She rolled her eyes. Her bloody brother and she couldn't even call him by his first name at work.

The thin, pale witch sitting at a plain wooden desk out in front of the office proclaiming "Percival Weasley — Undersecretary of Internal Affairs" shrugged. "He didn't say anything. He's still in there working, you know."

"Hm, he was supposed to go home hours ago. What a pity." Ginny shrugged back. "Well, anything else?"

"An owl came for you, miss. I sent him to wait in your office; the package was to be delivered only to you." Nancy pulled a stack of parchments from a filing bin and started paging through them, assuming her superior would be fine.

Ginny sighed and pushed open the door to her tiny office. Working for the Department of Internal Affairs was certainly more interesting than working under her father in Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, but working under her brother was pure torture. He'd taken up the position after Lucius Malfoy, the previous Undersecretary, had been found guilty of conspiring with the Dark Lord a few years earlier. He'd actually seemed sorry the Death Eater had been tossed in Azkaban!

Just as Nancy had said, a non-descript brown owl was perched on her desk, a long slim package cluched in his talons. Ginny placed a few sickles in the pouch strapped to his leg and he let off the package, allowing himself to be ushered out the window. Definitely a Diagon Alley rented post owl, from the haughty look he sent Ginny before soaring off to collect his next delivery.

She looked at the date on her calendar. Tuesday, October 28, 2003. Ginny choked back a sob as the scene exactly two years earlier in the Three Broomsticks played through her mind again. She'd excused herself to the restroom, shocked to hear screams of panic as she was ready to step out once again. October 28th had been a Sunday, in 2001, one of the dozens of Bloody Sundays that decimated the wizarding population starting not long after Harry Potter and his friends graduated from Hogwarts. Ginny didn't blame Harry when he'd disappeared from the wizarding world entirely, only a few months later. Even Ron didn't know where to find him.

She'd thought she was going to die when she'd heard the screams. No one had ever survived a Death Eater attack, after Voldemort's return. No one but Harry Potter; and with the Boy Who Lived gone from the wizarding world, morale had fallen to the point where day to day living was nothing short of an exercise in terror. She'd thought she was going to die, but when the screams had faded away and she'd stepped back into the main section of the little pub, she came face to face with evil, and lived.

Or maybe he hadn't been evil. He'd taken off his mask, he'd looked sad and hurt. He'd given her the scarf... and he'd run away. And then she'd found Neville's body, and life changed.

With a deep breath, she took the lid off the package, revealing a single white rose. She'd known it was coming. The day after her fiancee's death, she'd received one. One year earlier, she'd found a white rose waiting for her when she made it to work. And now... the third rose. No note, nothing to suggest who'd sent it. Only the beauty of the rose betraying it's probable origin in a wealthy area of the wizarding world.

Ginny sighed and set the rose aside, delving into her work to forget the despair which hung over her on the yearly anniversary of Neville's death. A knock on her door, a short while later, pulled her back to reality. "Yes? Who is it?"

Her brother stepped in, looking every bit the nickname of Pompous Percy which he'd been given by their twin brothers years earlier. "I just wanted to let you know I'm on my way out, Virginia. I've left a few things for you on my desk. Don't bother picking them up until you head home, they aren't important."

"More work? Christ, Percy, you know what day it is! Can't you leave off for one bloody day?" She slammed her palm against the table, massaging her temple with her other hand. "You didn't work for a year after you lost Penny! But no, you had me back in here a week after he was gone! Damn you, Percy, I'm sick of it!"

Though he winced visibly at his dead girlfriend's name, the aloof glare Percy regarded his sister with was colder than she'd ever seen. "Maybe tomorrow, your life will be a bit different," he hissed. He winced again, rubbing at his left arm distractedly. "Actually, I'm positive that tomorrow morning will bring quite a few differences. Now if you'll excuse me, Virginia, I have important things to attend to, rather than moaning over a dead lover." The glare in his eyes was pure ice as he slammed the door behind himself.

Ginny stared in shock. Her first reaction would be to burst into tears and run sobbing from the Ministry building, but the coldness, the arrogance, the hate in her brother's eyes was overwhelming. She'd never seen him like that, not even after Penelope had died in an accident on a Muggle subway years before. She shot to her feet and pushed the door open. "Nancy, did he leave already?"

"The bloody git slapped enough work on my desk to last me until next year!" The older woman scowled and glared at the closed office door. "Yes, he left. And good riddance! I don't care if he never shows up here again! It would certainly make my life easier!"

"All of ours," Ginny murmured, opening the door to her brother's office. She was shocked by her first vision of it. Usually, the place was impeccably cleaned. A stack of papers had been tossed haphazardly on the floor, the garbage can was overflowing with junk of all sorts. An unsheathed knife was lying across Percy's desk, along with a note and a small velvet box. The rest of the office was similarly in shambles. He'd have hell to pick up the next morning.

With a frightened yelp, Ginny grabbed for the box and pulled it open, fearing for the worst. "Gods, Percy, what are you planning?" There, set in the box, was the engagement ring Percy had bought to give to Penelope, on the day she'd been in the explosion. Ginny set the box back down, hand shaking as she picked up the letter on the desk, very clearly addressed to her in Percy's bold writing. She ripped the envelope away, and unfolded the paper.

__

Virginia-

By the time you read this, I expect the events of yesterday will have come to light. I wouldn't be surprised if they suggest the Imperius Curse. Don't be fooled. Even if I can't do it myself, the damned Muggles who caused my Penny's death will pay for it. Lucius assured me of that, long ago. I'd advise you to be wary of the company you keep, Virginia. Your current friends will no doubt land you on the wrong side of the fight. 

Ever yours,

Percival

Ginny screamed and turned to run for the door. She somehow knew, however, that it was already too late.


	4. I'd Fight For You, I'd Die For You

A/N: My goodness, I can be morbid... but all will be explained, in time. I think I'll be upping this to an R-rating, due to this chapter. I doubt the rest will be quite this gory - I blame it on too much Buffy!

Chapter Three — I'd Fight for You, I'd Die for You

"You can't tell me, it's not worth trying for,

I can't help it, there's nothing I want more.

Yeah, I'd fight for you, I'd lie for you,

Want the world for you! Yeah, I'd die for you..."

-Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves Soundtrack, "I Do it For You"

Tuesday, October 28, 2003

Percival Weasley, Undersecretary of Internal Affairs, slipped largely unnoticed down the plush hallways of the Ministry of Magic building in London. Despite the shock of red hair he tried to forget he'd been born with, the oft-overlooked Weasley son was usually able to blend into the crowd well enough. "A useful skill," his mentor had once told him. He used it to his best, weaving through a throng of gaily laughing wizards, his hand hidden in his pocket, fingers wrapped around comforting cold metal.

His goal was just around the corner. Percy pushed open the wooden door marked with the words "Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic" and sauntered over to the secretary's desk. "Why hello there! Miss Patil, isn't it? Weren't you at school with Ronald?"

With a gasp of recognition, Parvati stood from her paperwork. "Percy! What a wonderful surprise! How's Ron? Are you still working down at International Cooperation?"

"No, no, I was transferred after Mr. Crouch was killed, over to Internal Affairs. After Undersecretary Malfoy was incarcerated, I got his job... you must be new to working here, or I'm sure you'd be aware?" Percy was barely able to restrain himself from glancing at the clock. He was quite certain Virginia would be finding the letter any moment. He had only minutes to complete his task.

"Yes! My first day! I'm so excited to be here! Isn't Ginny working in Internal as well? And Lavender's in Muggle Artifacts, she just adores it." Parvati beamed, ruffling through a few stacks of parchment.

Percy put on his most charming smile. "I'd love to have lunch with you another time, talk about old friends. I'll tell you all about Ronald's work with the Cannons... however, I have a meeting with Minister Fudge? He's expecting me."

Parvati frowned in confusion. "You do? But he's with the Headmaster right now... are you sure you're here at the right time? I mean, I could look on the schedule, but I seem to have misplaced -"

"Trust me, this is the right time... I have a few things to discuss with the both of them. Confidential, of course...?" Percy kept smiling, sliding his wand from his pocket surreptitiously, just in case.

"Confidential? Oh. OH! Go on, go on! He said someone would be showing up partway, I'm sorry!" She flushed, snatching a piece of parchment from the table. "See? Here's the memo! F. Weasley, I thought it said, but maybe that's an odd looking P? Go right on in!"

"Thank you, Miss Patil." Percy opened the door to Fudge's inner office, an alarm seeming to go off in his head. Fred was going to be here? Hopefully later rather than sooner... He slipped inside and closed the door once again, silently thanking whatever Gods there were than Minister Fudge was paranoid enough to surround his office with a permanent silencing charm.

"Fred, I'm so glad you could make it! Now, then, what was so important it couldn't wait for the usual meeting time?" Fudge called from across the room. Percy thanked the Gods again, this time for the Weasley shade of hair he'd cursed for so long.

Percy turned to face the desk, wand still in one hand, and the muggle weapon pulled from his pocket in the other. Headmaster Dumbledore and Minister Fudge stared on in shock as Percy slowly raised his weapon to point at Dumbledore. The old man didn't have time to draw his wand before Percy fired.

The teacher's eyes met the pupil's for a brief moment. No anger, no regret. Only sadness — and pity. Red blossomed over the front of his pale robes, and the Hogwarts Headmaster sunk down into his chair.

He turned the handgun on the Minister of Magic. The pompous man was sputtering, staring in shock at the blank gaze of the former Headmaster. Percy imagined that his own eyes looked much the same. "Come now, Minister Fudge. No begging?"

Fudge managed to move his gaze from the body to his employee. "Weasley... why?"

"For Penny," he murmured. Without moving the gun from its position, trained between Fudge's eyes, Percy carefully pushed up his sleeve. The Dark Mark burned black on the flesh of his forearm. "Everything I do, I do it for Penny. Goodbye, Minister." Rather overdramatic, he thought to himself, but the shock plastered on Fudge's face before he was blown back into his chair was certainly worth it.

Overly calm, Percy lowered the gun and raised his wand. "Morsmordra," he murmured, sending the Dark Mark hovering over the work he'd done. There was a click, as the door handle was turned. Percy spun around, gun raised once more. He caught sight of a flash of red hair before he pulled the trigger once more.

The shot rang out into the atrium, and Percy heard Parvati shriek as the body of his latest killing dropped to the ground. The face — far too familiar. The breath caught in his throat as he stared down into the blank eyes of Fred Weasley. 

A picture flashed through his mind's eye, of Fred's arrow on the family clock sliding slowly from "Work" to join Bill's pointing to "In God's Care." Percy choked, unaware of Parvati running for help, or Ginny reaching the outer door of the offices in a panic. 

"I'm sorry, Penny," he whispered hoarsely, gaze locked on the unseeing eyes of his younger brother. Percy turned the gun on himself. Ginny screamed. He fired.

Mrs. Weasley bustled from the kitchen into the living room, carrying a cup of tea for her neighbor, Mrs. Bennington, who was visiting for dinner. As she passed the old grandfather clock, her eyes caught movement. Percy's arrow moved slowly from "Work" to "In God's Care," joining Bill's — and Fred's? 

Molly shrieked, sending the scalding cup of tea crashing to the floor.


	5. What Can't We Face if We're Together?

A/N: Thanks to all who've reviewed! Get ready to take the plunge... let the bloodbath continue! (Well, less blood, more angst... good enough, I hope?)

Chapter Four — What can't we face, if we're together?

"What can't we face, if we're together?

What's in this place that we can't weather?

There's nothing we can't face!"

-Buffy Cast, "I've Got a Theory"

Wednesday, October 29, 2003

The morgue guard was one of His. Draco barely had to throw his weight around at all to get in to see the bodies. He passed the table where Dumbledore seemed to rest peacefully, passed the one where Fudge seemed ever the head of state. Set apart, as if to protect the hallowed heroes, were the bodies of the two Weasleys. 

Draco knew what the mortician had found upon examination of the bodies. He ignored the real villian, Percy, and went to stand next to Fred's body. "Anybody there?" he called, glancing around. Satisfied that there was no answer, he grabbed the limp hand and turned his arm. The Mark was there, of course. No magic could remove it.

"You stupid bastard," he whispered, "Why'd you have to go get yourself killed? Do you realize how much trouble I went through to get you in, to make Voldemort trust you? And then you go get yourself shot up, by a Muggle weapon no less, and waste everything." He sighed, locking his fingers with Fred's limp ones. "Damn you, Fred Weasley. They think you're one of His. I'm the only one left alive who knows."

There was a clang of metal from behind him. Draco caught sight of a flash of red as he drew his wand and dropped Fred's hand, turning to face the danger. Two flashes of Weasley hair. Once face, identical to the one dead, the other far too familiar from the haunting of his dreams.

Ginny gasped and grabbed for her wand. George grabbed her shoulder and shook his head. "Who knows what?" he demanded. "What do you know about what happened?"

He could lie. He could make a run for it, convince the world for good that Draco Malfoy the Death Eater had come to survey the wreakage of the attack, to insure Dumbledore was taken care of for good. Ginny lowered her wand, eyes pleading. Her face was red, probably from tears, or maybe anger. He made his choice, and was immediately sure it had been the wrong one. "He was a spy. I think he was taking information to Dumbledore. He was just... in the wrong place..." Draco turned back to the body, hoping that the others wouldn't notice the emotion barely restrained under the surface. 

"So that... makes you...?" He didn't know why George was pressing for information. If he said it out loud, did that make it more the truth than unsaid? It certainly made it more dangerous — but being here was just as dangerous.

"Yeah," he muttered, eyes locked on the patch of dried blood which noone had bothered to clean from Fred's face. "I helped him make the right contacts. I got him in. I thought Voldemort would figure it out, for a while. A Weasley as a Death Eater? But it looks like the Dark Lord wasn't quite as suspicious as I thought." 

Draco turned in time to catch Ginny's sob. "You mean... Percy's been one...?" He watched, not quite as detatched as he wished, as her older brother grabbed her close in a hug. George continued for her. "How long was Percy a Death Eater?"

Too many questions; the morgue guard would be getting suspicious. "I don't know. I didn't know he was one in the first place. Voldemort hardly trusts anyone with all the information, after all. However... he worked with Father. It probably started there." He turned back to look at Fred's body for a moment. "You can't tell anyone. If you do, we're all doomed. I can still report in, even if Dumbledore's dead."

"But... what about -?"

"Weasley — Ginny, I'm sorry about your brother, very sorry, but I can't stay. People are going to start getting suspicious, especially if I'm seen talking to an Auror and a Ministry employee who used to date Potter, before the bastard disappeared." Draco stepped forward, intent on shoving past the two and using a Memory Charm on the guard. He hissed suddenly, grabbing his arm as the Dark Mark sizzled, almost audibly, in its call. "Damnit."

George tried to grab his shoulder to ask another question, but Draco shoved it away, stumbling out of the morgue. He tried to straighten himself as he walked down the hall, but the pain was nearly crippling, almost worse than the Cruciatus he'd been subjected to so many times. He pulled himself up as he passed three red-haired, bleary-eyed Weasleys and levelled a sneer at the group of them. Fred was different than the rest. Fred had been a friend. He stepped outside and Disapparated.

Far from the intrigues of wizarding London, Harry Potter — known to everyone around as Mr. Harold Black — curled up on the old musty couch in the den of his little home in America and pulled his wife onto his lap. "Baby's asleep," he whispered, an impish smile flitting across his face.

Rachel Black sighed softly and kissed his cheek. No matter how many times he smiled, the cheer never reached his eyes. He'd lost someone in the attack, he'd said. The past wasn't something he wanted to talk about, and though she'd heard all about the terrible family which had raised him, she knew there was something hidden.

"Let's just stay here for a while, honey. I think James will be sleeping for a while." Her husband of two years grunted in response, curling his body around her protectively. He had dozed off within moments.

Rachel reached over and gently traced the squiggly scar on his forehead. There was something in the air. Her common, lawyer's assistant husband had secrets; more secrets than any mortal man should carry, whatever they be. Secrets, she knew from experience, had a terrible way of biting back.

A/N: Next time — Arthur sees the truth, George gets a job, and Draco meets the wrath of his Master.


	6. Going Through the Motions

A/N: And here we have chapter the fifth. I should get another one out by the end of the week. A quick thanks to my wonderous reviewers: sunnycouger, karna (you owe me $45 :P), ariel, hermione212121, Mihoshe, kiriana, justme, Draco's Twin Sister99, Rose Rovente (everyone go read her stuff, quick! It's great!), Feather, A-chan, and MrSmiley4. (Whew)

Chapter Five — Going Through the Motions

"Will I stay this way forever?

Sleepwalk through my life's endeavour?"

-Buffy Cast, "Going Through the Motions"

Wednesday, October 29, 2003

Arthur slipped an arm around Molly's shoulders and let her lean into him, providing all the strength he could. He returned the young man's sneer with a glare of hatred. "Arthur," his wife whispered as the man passed by and disappeared. "Wasn't that Lucius Malfoy? Isn't he in Azkaban?"

"No, Molly. His son is still out. That was Draco Malfoy. Though God knows he should be the one dead, not -" Arthur hissed out the rest of his breath, trying to ignore the hurt glare Charlie awarded him with, and the sob from his wife. "George and Ginny are already here, I bet."

Charlie turned and walked into the Ministry silently, his parents on his heel. Arthur didn't want to be tracing these same hallways down to the morgue, not again. Nothing had changed, even after four years. It had been Monday morning, last time, and his eldest son waiting to be identified after the Gringotts incident. And now... a few in the halls looked on his family with disgust, as the three passed by. He'd failed Percy, gotten the entire family involved in this terrible battle. 

There was no guard at the morgue, oddly enough, just Ginny standing outside. He met her eyes and found himself shocked by what he saw there. She'd seen it, hadn't she. "Ginny? Did you... what happened?"

"He left a note. He was acting oddly when he left, so I opened it. It wasn't Imperious, he said. It was for P-penny." Ginny choked, turning to push open the door. He listened carefully, knowing she'd continue, as he led Molly into the room. It smelled of death. Dumbledore? Fudge? "I went to find him, and I heard a shot in the Minister's office, and a scream. And I went in... the door was open. Fred was already... and Dumbledore and Fudge... there was blood everywhere. And he didn't seem to notice me, he just stared at Fred and turned the gun and -" Ginny broke off with a sob.

Charlie was there, stepping forward to pull his youngest sibling into a hug. The eldest Weasley son remaining. Arthur sighed, no longer trying to hold back the tears which spilled down his cheeks. He saw the other bodies, his sons, and walked over to join George. Charlie could keep Molly from seeing Percy's arm. "George?" he whispered.

His son looked up from his twin's body. "It's odd, seeing yourself dead," he answered, voice deceptively calm, as evidenced by the puffy red of his eyes. "We didn't have a "twins' telepathic bond or anything. I didn't know when he was dead, not until they called me in from the field. I wonder if they caught Nero Goyle with the books or not."

"George..." Arthur trailed off. There was nothing to say. His little boy had just been in the wrong place. Wrong time.

"Malfoy was in here when Ginny and I got here." George reached down and took hold of his dead brother's hand. He must've caught Arthur's gaze moving to Percy's body because he shook his head. "No, he wasn't here to visit Percy, Dad. Or even to make sure Headmaster Dumbledore and Minister Fudge were dead. When we came in, he was standing right where I am." George's eyes were calm as he turned Fred's hand so that his father could see the forearm.

Arthur let out a cry, stepping back as if punched. The image of the Dark Mark, the skull and snake staring up from another son's arm burned in his mind. He could hear Molly asking what was wrong, could hear Ginny pleading for George not to tell. Arthur ignored them, grabbing George's wrist in a vice grip. To his son's credit, George didn't flinch as his father tore away the sleeve.

A sigh of relief escaped Arthur's lips and he dropped George's wrist, instead enveloping his son in a hug. "Gods, George... I'm so sorry I thought — but you and Fred always did everything together —"

"That's one thing I would never do, Dad."

Arthur didn't know when Molly and Charlie had reached his side. His wife sobbed and hid her face when the Mark became visible. Charlie demanded to see George's arm as well. "Where's Ron?" he heard Ginny ask.

"He'll be here. It's five in the morning in Los Angeles." Ron, PR manager for the American Quiddich League. The United States was a big country, but it hadn't mattered to Ron. New York was the last place Harry had been seen, in September of 1999. Millions of people — and Ron thought he would find his friend in the masses. "It's the American Cup on Saturday," Arthur added, brokenly. "Cincinnati Charms and the Nantucket Nifflers. He thinks Harry might show up..."

George jerked back from his father. "The day bloody Harry Potter gives a damn about any of us —" 

"George, shut up!" Ginny growled. "I'm sure he had a reason for what he did. I don't pretend to understand him, but after he faced off with You-Know-Who at his graduation, he changed."

"Maybe he did, but it's no excuse to abandon us!" George turned and kicked the wall behind the examining table Fred's body was lying on. Molly reached out to hold him close, but he backed away. "I'm going to get fired. I can't afford the rent without Fred, anyways. I'll move back in after the funeral. I have to go."

Arthur grabbed his son's shoulder. "George..." He sighed. "Please, don't do anything you'll regret."

George looked ready to launch into an angry reply when the morgue door was pushed open. Five Weasley faces turned to face Minerva McGonagall as she walked in silently. Her eyes flickered over the bodies, flashing with extra pain at the sight of Dumbledore, and finally coming to rest on George. "I heard that Fred..."

He nodded and very calmly lifted his left arm, pushing away the torn fabric to reassure her.

She sighed softly, stepping forward hesitantly to join the crowd. "I'm sorry, George, and this is a terrible time to bring it up... but with Headmaster Dumbledore gone, it means I have to take over this year instead of next..."

"I'll lose my job over this anyways. I'll move in tomorrow, if you like." George glanced back at the confused faces of his family and shrugged. "Tell Ron I'm sorry I missed him." With a nod to McGonagall, he slipped away.

"I'm sorry... about the boys," the new Headmistress of Hogwarts murmured. "Oh Percy," she whispered, turning to look over at the other body. "What were you thinking?"

Draco Apparated directly into the grand entryway of the Malfoy Manor. "More like Voldemort Manor," he muttered to himself. He became silent as someone in full Death Eater regalia appeared at his side. Draco didn't bother to look for his hood — it was understood that this was HIS home, and he could wear whatever he wanted.

Narcissa stepped out of the library, looking paler and thinner than ever before. She was wasting away before his eyes. Despite what others thought of his family, Lucius hadn't been an abusive father or a hateful husband. Cold, yes. Aloof, definitely; but he never raised a hand against his son or wife. She missed him; missed him so much that she'd taken the Mark to take his place. "Mother," he muttered politely, leaning to kiss her pale cheek before stepping past her into the darkened library. 

Most of the Inner Circle had already arrived and taken their places around the room. The library, full of texts older than Hogwarts itself, was the favorite haunt of the Dark Lord. At that moment, he was lounging in a plush Slytherin-green chair, his familiar coiled over a long, slim arm. "Malfoy," he hissed, sliding his slanted red eyes to rest upon Draco. 

He repressed a shiver, just as every time the Dark Lord spoke to him. "My Lord," he whispered, bowing low. He hoped it was merely a greeting, but the glint in Voldemort's serpentile face came just soon enough to alert Draco that something was wrong.

"We had a conversation about a mole, my dear Baron. I've found him, I'm afraid. And the answer to the question of whom does not bode well for you." The voice of the Dark Lord cut like ice. He knew. Somehow, despite all of Dumbledore's careful planning, he knew. Draco sunk to his knees and bowed his head, ever the penitant Death Eater. He had one last chance.

"My Lord, I don't understand."

"You understand perfectly well." The sneer was actually audible. For a moment, Draco considered asking as a last request how Voldemort did it. "Gerald Paine saw you enter the Ministry morgue. Tell us all, Baron Malfoy, what did you see there?"

Drawing out the torture, or hoping for Draco to slip? Draco dug his nails into the palm of his hand, focusing. "Four bodies, my Lord. Fudge, Dumbledore, Fred Weasley, and Percival Weasley. They weren't killed by magic, Lord. There were... holes. A Muggle weapon?"

A cold laugh. "Ahh, good, my Baron. One of my most ingenius solutions, if I do say so. The son of a Muggle-lover joins me, and kills the Muggle-loving ministry fools with a Muggle device. Wizards don't know how to trace it, and they can hardly take the matter to the Muggle police, now can they?"

"Ingenius, my Lord." "Amazing, truly inspired." "What irony, Lord." The Death Eaters all around simpered, trying to impress their lord, but not stand out too much. Draco was disgusted, but years of practice kept his emotions tightly within. "Fred killed them, my Lord?" Draco asked softly, playing the innocent.

"Weasley? No, not that one. He was the mole, dear Baron. He was cut down by Percival — MY mole, such a tragic story — as he went to betray us. And I do remember quite well who vouched for Fred Weasley, the Muggle-lover who lost his dear wife to a Muggle terrorist. Quite a familiar story, actually. I'm shocked I didn't realize the connection earlier. You see, Percival came to me through your father." There was a pause.

A long pause. "My father?" Draco asked softly. Voldemort's flair for the dramatic managed to lengthen what should be a simple torture and execution to a long, drawn-out affair. As it was his own execution he was waiting for, Draco didn't really mind.

Into his vision, still trained on the floor, came a long, slender, black-shoed foot, followed by another. Expensive leather, probably tanned from the hide of some magical beast or another. "Yes, dear boy. Percival worked for Lucius after a horrible accident killed his fiancee. The Muggles did it. It took a few years of work... a few reports of Ministry atrocities which were committed over the years — did you know the Aurors slaughtered Potter's relatives, after he disappeared, thinking the stupid Muggles had killed him? But after all the hard work, Lucius was taken. Percival was happy to take his mentor's place."

"And he killed the Minister and Dumbledore, as you commanded," Draco finished. At least he knew the whole story. It was too bad little Ginny wouldn't hear the saga. Would she notice, when no white rose appeared on her desk in a year's time?

"And Fred Weasley just happened to be appearing at a meeting with both Dumbledore and Fudge at the same time... Fred was one of yours, Baron."

He was going to send her roses; one for Fred, one for Percy, one for Bill, and one for Neville. All his fault. Two he killed, one he abandoned, and one he should've payed attention to. His mind grasped for a vision of Ginny, holding Neville's scarf, standing proudly and sadly in the wreckage of the Three Broomsticks. She looked beautiful, despite the blood and the hurt. He wondered if she would notice that he no longer showed up at the Ministry periodically. Would anyone send a white rose for Draco Malfoy?

"Crucio."

A/N: Mmm, I feel evil. Next time: Draco's fate and Mai Tais.

A/N2: I've updated the first few chapters with the same type of opening as this chapter — Date and explanation in song of the title. Date will be important, as the events within "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" happen within a period of only a few weeks.


	7. Everything is Turning Out so Dark

A/N: A quick thanks to reviewers Evil*Fairy, sunnycouger (there will be more death, sorry, hun. Though... George is safe, I promise!), Gideon's Dreamer, and Amberdulen (oddly believable? Wow! Seriously, that's one of the greatest things anyone has said about this work! ::beams madly::) 

Chapter Six — Everything is Turning Out so Dark

"So I will walk through the fire?

Cause where else can I turn?

Yes, I will walk through the fire, and let it burn."

-Buffy Cast, "Into the Fire"

Thursday, October 30, 2003

"Draco Vespasian Malfoy, you have no idea how bloody sick I am of mopping up your sorry ass." Her voice was low and throaty, certainly not the one Draco wanted to wake up to. A damp cloth dabbed at his aching head, and a whispered spell sent the pain flying away.

He peered from beneath his lids. A halo of red fire was her hair, sweeping over to conceal her face and glinting auburn and gold in the morning light. "Ginny?" he whispered, the leftover pain of the Cruciatus curse leaving his mind groggy.

The snort in response was most definitely not hers. Draco rubbed his eyes, grunting at the pain it took to reach his hands to his face, and peered up at the woman helping him. "Oh. Hello, Blaise."

"You're welcome, Draco." She pushed up out of the chair she was perched in and walked over to the tall wooden vanity in the master bedroom of the Malfoy Manor. Narcissa no longer used it. Draco thought it was too big; too lonely. "That commoner is at it again," Blaise Zambini spat.

Draco blinked a few times, trying to push away the confusion. The muscles of his legs started spasming, an unfortunate aftereffect of the Cruciatus Curse. "The... commoner? Lord Vodlemort, I assume?"

"None other. Half-blood trash thinks he can come in and take over..." She trailed off, stalking away, to a bench in the corner. A steaming cauldron simmering over a tiny magical fire let off a sulpherous smell as she laddled a bit into a goblet.

"You should be careful what you say, Blaise. The wall's have ears here." He shoved himself up to a sitting position, hissing in agony as a burst of pain shot up his spine. "Damn, how long was I under?"

Blaise shoved the goblet in front of his face with another snort. "Near as I can tell, close to ten minutes. You're lucky you didn't end up in St. Mungo's with the rest of the loonies, my DEAR Baron," she added, giving a sneer.

"Bugger off, Blaise. Would you give the Baron thing a rest?" Draco hissed again, rubbing his temples to try to clear the headache before quaffing the restorative potion. It stunk terribly. "Why didn't he kill me?"

"Well, you only let Fred into the organization — you didn't turn traitor yourself. Lucky for you, I guess." She sighed heavily, snatching the emptied cup from his hand and tossing it on the bedside table before collapsing into a plush chair beside the bed. "Is this how you thought it would be?"

Draco attempted to ignore the terrible aftertaste of the potion. It wouldn't do for a Malfoy to complain about such a trifle, after all. "How I thought what would be? I knew I was going to be a Death Eater from the day I was born, Blaise. Yes, I certainly didn't think Lucius would end up Kissed in Azkaban before I was twenty-five, but I'm stuck with it now, aren't I?" He snatched the wand from the bedside table, raising it to utter "Silencio." 

Blaise nodded her agreement. "Good idea. I'd hope the commoner hasn't found a way to listen in, but I wouldn't be surprised... Draco, why are we still here, following him? Five years, and all it's been is death."

He sighed deeply, trying to ignore the twitching muscles in his arm. "Blaise... I'm so sorry about your father... but is questioning the Dark Lord really the best of ideas? Do you want to get yourself killed and leave the Duchy to some Muggles?"

"Of course not!" she exclaimed, eyes narrowing. "Papa's gone, I'm a Duchess. I have a certain responsibility, you know. And my cousin still holds that place in the House of Lords — it's really too bad he was a Squib, but at least my family still holds control in both worlds. That's more than I can say for you Malfoys. Bowing down in front of that pathetic Half-Blood commoner as if he was the King of England!"

"Blaise..." he murmured, rubbing his aching head, "I'll admit a good deal of agreement with you, but this really isn't the time or place..." Draco grunted and tried to stand, managing only a few steps before stumbling over spasming muscles. "Damnit. Blaise, will you help me? I need to get to- to Snape."

Silence. Draco cringed, wondering if the Duchess' pronouncements were merely brought on by the Dark Lord in hopes of a confession. Would it be a clean death, or more torture? Her deep alto voice broke into his thoughts. "Then... you let Weasley in, knowing fully well that he was a spy... because you are one yourself..."

"Off to find Voldemort now, I presume? I'm ready for whatever it takes." That was a lie. Unable to gather enough coordination to turn back to face Zambini, Draco resigned himself to meeting his end cowering. However, no curses came; no call to the Master.

"I want a deal, Malfoy. I get you there safely... and you set up a Secret-Keeper for me and my cousin. I may've been bred to this task, but it doesn't mean I want it."

A trap? A way to get those Draco was close to into the hands of Voldemort? Not that it mattered... Snape was well-known as a traitor to the Cause, and Fred had really been the only friend he'd managed to keep for any period of time. And Ginny... but she wouldn't be at Hogwarts anyways. "Alright," Draco hissed after a moment's hesitation. "It's likely to be chaos with the Headmaster dead. A bit of curse-breaking, an invisibility cloak, and a Silence Potion, and we'll be in the walls without a problem. Can you get the tools, Blaise?"

"Of course," she quipped, nearly bouncing over to aid him in returning to bed to rest. "Oh, and Draco? Voldemort knows about your feelings for the little Weasley girl. It's too bad you have the tendency to scream your soul out while half-way conscious... you may want to make sure she's safe..." 

Draco cursed loudly at Blaise's retreating back. Voldemort, on his back, knowing his moves, knowing his secrets. Was this the end, then? "Blaise, why are you doing this? Voldemort isn't blind you know — he'll notice where your loyalties lie sooner or later."

"Because, dear Baron," she drawled over her shoulder, reaching for the door handle, "Fred was dear to me, too."

A loud thud roused Hermione from her dreams. With a groan, she rolled out of bed, snatching her dressing gown — tartan, of course — from its place and pulling it on. She stormed to the door, throwing the lock open manually and yanking it open, taking a deep breath to yell at the students no doubt roaming the halls after curfew. A tall, lanky red-head came barelling into her instead, yelping in surprise as both he and Hermione crashed to the floor in a jumble of limbs.

The smell of stale alcohol was overwhelming. George Weasley blinked slowly, bleary-eyed, and burst into laughter as he realized he was lying on the floor. "Oh, George," Hermione whispered, shaking her head. "What have you gotten into now?"

George cleared his throat dramatically and grabbed the doorframe, using it to lever himself to his feet. "Prof'ssor Weasley, reportin' for duty, Mione!"

Hermione grabbed his arm and dragged him into the room, slamming the door to her quarters shut quickly. "George Frederick Weasley, even you should know better than this — what if one of the students saw you staggering down the hall like a drunken bum!?"

"S'after curfew," he grumbled, tossing himself on a grubby sofa without thought as to Hermione's view on the matter. "Y'r turning out worse an McGonag'l. If Fred was here -" A choked sob cut off whatever he was going to say.

She sighed deeply, walking over to rummage through a few cupboards to pull out a teapot and slightly chipped teacups. Teachers didn't get paid nearly enough. "If Fred were here, George, I'm sure he wouldn't want you to be drowning your sorrows in a pint."

"Y'don't just SOUND like McGonag'l, you ARE bloody McGonag'l!" Looking like nothing more than a spoiled two-year-old, George crossed his arms and kicked his heels against the sofa legs.

"George!" Hermione exclaimed, voice laden with exasperation, "Bloody McGonagall happened to hire you even when you were fired for Percy being a Death Eater!" She fumbled around in her pockets for her wand, letting out a loud curse when she remembered it was elsewhere. "Just stay right there and don't move. And for God's sake, don't break the couch! I don't get paid enough to replace it if you damage it beyond magical repair!"

She shoved the door of her bedroom back open, kicking aside piles of unmarked term papers and stacks of research books on her way to the bedside table. Just as she'd thought, her wand was waiting for her under a half-graded essay from a second-year Hufflepuff. Hermione turned to find George slumped against the doorframe, watching.

"If Fred were ere," he mumbled, trying to keep upright, "the bugger'd prob'ly be running about the place wi'a hood on is face cursing Muggles! E's a bloody Death Eater!" George kicked the wall, sending himself stumbling over a pile of books.

Hermione came to the rescue, sliding his arm over her shoulder to steady him. "George, let's go sit down for a bit? I'll make some tea, or some coffee if you like, and we'll wait to talk until you've sobered up a bit?"

"Donwanna," he grumbled. His eyes suddenly focused on something in Hermione's room, and he let out a bellow of rage, pushing away from her aid to weave his drunken way over to a neat desk next to a window. "Bloody bastard!" George spat, grabbing the object of his ire.

It was a photograph, taken just before Hermione's graduation. A younger Hermione and Ron waved out from the picture, stopping every once in a while to grab Harry's attention away from Ginny. "Bloody bastard," George repeated, "I'll teach you to dis'pear like that! Teach you to hurt Ginny!"

"George, stop it!" Hermione hurtled forward, reaching for the precious photo. "That's one of the last times I saw them together! Please, put it down!"

The delicate hands of a hex-expert grabbed ahold of his wrist, steadying his hands to keep him from dropping the frame. George yanked his arm away, keeping the photo aloft. "It's his fault, Mione, you know it! He's the bloody Boy Who Lived, an' he ran off like a scared Slytherin when it got rough! I bet e's off in Jamaica, sittin' on the beach with a Mai Tai while we're all ere, getting KILLED!"

His hand slipped. The picture went flying, little figures inside unawares as gravity brought them crashing in a shatter of glass to the floor. Hermione let out a cry, stumbling to her knees to snatch the photo from the rubble. It was too late. The glass cut her hand, just as it slashed across the graduation picture.

She looked over at George, who sank into a ball on the floor. "It's is fault," he murmured, ignoring Hermione's sob. "He may've lived, but he left."

A/N: Next time on morbidity central — George wakes, Draco mourns.


	8. Broken Bottles

A/N: And chapter the seventh... next week begins spring break for my college! I'll have plenty of time to write (both that blasted Asian Religions paper AND things I'd actually like to write...) So look for extra updates! 

Chapter Seven — Broken Bottles

"Broken bottles under children's feet,

Bodies strewn across a dead-end street!

But I won't heed the battle call,

It puts my back up, puts my back up against the wall."

-U2, "Sunday, Bloody Sunday"

Friday, October 31, 2003

George woke with a grunt, which was swiftly followed by a moan of pain as he tried to open his eyes. He and the bottle had never gotten on well. They might be genetically identical, but Fred had always been able to drink him under the table. Fred. George forced himself to sit slowly, attempting to ignore the pounding inferno which he assumed was his skull. "Fred died Tuesday," he muttered to himself, peeking between his eyelids at the glaring brightness surrounding him. "I moved in Thursday. It's Friday. The burial's today."

He pried his eyes open. This wasn't his room. Where had he ended up, last night? Had he really gotten that drunk? "Don't remember a thing," he groaned, looking around in panic. Whose room was this? His eyes locked almost immediately upon a familiar tartan dressing gown tossed over the back of a chair near the door. "Oh, shit." With a yelp, George scrambled to his feet, ignoring the sudden urge to lose whatever he'd eaten the night before. "I'm in McGonagall's room. I'm going to get fired." 

"You are not in McGonagall's room! She gave me that for Christmas my first year teaching — she knew I'd wanted one like hers!" The feminine voice came from behind another door. George glanced over to his sleeping accommodation and gave a sigh of relief as he realized it was a couch and not someone's bed.

He coughed self-consciously, rubbing at his forehead and scuffing his foot against the floor. "Umm... where am I?" 

The bedroom door was pushed open and none other than Hermione Granger, George's little brother's ex-fiancée, walked into the room. Her hair was tamed into a severe bun, her professorial robes were immaculately pressed — and her lips were curved into what George could only term a seductive smile. "Oh, shit," he repeated. Ron's fiancée. Almost a Weasley. "Um... Did we... I mean, it's not that I'd be ashamed or anything -"

Hermione suddenly burst into laughter, instantaneously back to the chipper, intelligent young woman George remembered from Hogwarts. "Oh, the look on your face, George Weasley, was priceless! It was just like the time you and Ron and I walked in on Fred and Angelina -" She cut off abruptly, the hint of life fading. "Never mind that. You're feeling alright? You looked as if you'd had quite a bit to drink before I found you outside my door."

"Yeah. Head hurts," he mumbled, looking down to his shoes. He remembered the time Hermione was talking about. The Burrow, the summer after Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had gone under — that must've been right before her seventh year of school? Angelina and Fred were to have been married in August of that year. Hermione and Potter were staying for the wedding; she must've just arrived from her Muggle home. Potter wasn't there yet; the Muggles kept him until almost the last moment. They'd gone upstairs to surprise the couple with a few early wedding gifts and had interrupted something rather heated. George hadn't been able to face his twin for days without blushing in embarrassment.

They should've knocked first. Or better yet, waited to give the presents. Then Fred and Angelina would've had a few more hours of happiness before the accident tore them apart for eternity.

"George? Are you listening to me?" Hermione's voice snapped into his thoughts, tearing him away from the memories of both Fred and Angelina.

George looked up to meet her eyes. "I was just wondering about what it's like. You know, death. Maybe Fred's up there driving the saints up the wall with his and Angelina's pranks?"

"I hope so," Hermione sighed. "God, I hope so. George... the internment ceremony is in a few hours. If you go and get dressed, I'll walk down to Hogsmeade with you so we can both Apparate over to the Burrow."

"Yeah. The Burrow." Buried under the oak tree in the backyard. "Don't you have classes? I told McGonagall I'd start Monday."

She shook her head abruptly, chewing on her lip. There was a glint of pain in her eyes as she replied, a stoop to her shoulders which George hadn't seen moments earlier. "It's a national day of mourning, George. For Headmaster Dumbledore. Fudge too, I suppose, but it's Albus everyone is talking about."

With a nod, George headed over to the door. The murderer buried without a funeral on the day of the hero's special day. He wondered for a moment if there would be onlookers to spit on his brothers' coffins. 

Hermione followed him into the hall, giving an exaggerated glare at a broken beer bottle lying next to her door. George sighed softly. His anger had done it, probably. He turned and passed it by.

Draco Malfoy stepped out of the fireplace, years of experience with Floo Powder keeping him from the confusion sometimes associated with the magical transport. Three fireplaces to throw off the trail, should anyone be watching for his movements. Paranoia kept the spies alive.

He hoped the burst of flame hadn't awakened anyone in the house. It was early in the morning, probably several hours before any onlookers would arrive for the funeral. Not quite sure why it meant so much for him to say goodbye, Draco stepped forward and took a glance around.

A shabby couch, cheap carpeting, banged up table, chairs that had seen better days — he was hardly surprised by the state of the Weasley's sitting room. However, just as Fred had mentioned, a tall and elegant grandfather clock was perched in the corner of the room. It looked as if all the Weasleys were home, asleep somewhere in the house. An arrow labeled "Harry" hovered halfway between "You Don't Want to Know" and "Mortal Peril." Draco shook his head with a sigh. "How cute," he muttered under his breath, "they gave him acceptance before he buggered off."

"Who's there?" A timid, feminine voice came from one of the sofas. Draco was barely able to keep from cursing. He'd just wanted a moment to pay his respects — but what Weasley would let a Malfoy into the house?

It wouldn't hurt to try, he supposed. "I'm here to say good-bye to Fred." Would that do the trick, or send the girl running for the Aurors?

Draco caught a glimpse of Weasley-red hair glinting in the early-morning sunlight as she rose to face him, wand in hand to protect herself. "Malfoy," Ginny spat. "Your kind isn't welcome here."

"My kind?" He stared, eyes drawn to the spray of freckles across her nose, the curves of her cheeks, the highlights of gold from the sun; barely able to make a coherent response. "I... Ginny, he was my friend. I just want to have one last chance to -"

"Do you think I really believe that crap? Why would you want a Weasley for a friend? You're a Malfoy, you hate everything to do with Muggles, and my family has plenty to do with them. I'll believe that you're spying, certainly for selfish reasons, but I won't believe you'd befriend the very people you spent years of your life cursing for your jollies." She took a step toward him, practically burning with Gryffindor fire to match the flames of her hair.

He kept staring, unable to resist. "Ginny," he whispered, "you have to believe me. I'm not the way I used to be."

She gave a snort of disgust. "Then why are you here? You'll blow your cover, if you really are a spy."

"I won't. I was careful getting here — I made side stops at three different Floo centers to throw the trail. And I swear it, Ginny, I'm on your side. I don't want Voldemort to win." He hazarded a trance-like step toward her, hands held in her view to reassure her.

"Why? What made you turn?"

Draco stopped abruptly, eyes drinking in every word, gesture, and movement. "You did it," he admitted, ignoring the look of disgust and confusion that threatened to mar her face. "You remember the day, Ginny. Sunday, two years ago, in the Three Broomsticks."

"You killed Neville," she whispered. Accusing? Regretful?

He couldn't tell. He took the chance and kept talking, making not a move. "I don't know if I did. I looked up, and you were standing there. You were like an angel, standing there in the rubble. And the way you looked at him..." I wish you looked at me that way... "I couldn't hurt you. I don't want to hurt you, Ginny."

Ginny stepped back, knocking into the couch. "Stop saying my name! That's impossible, life only works that way in trashy romance novels! I went to the loo, and when I came back my fiancée was dead, and my life went back to being hell!"

"Virginia... Please, it's true. Every word of it." She was going to cry. It was all Draco could do to keep himself from pulling her close, offering her a shoulder to cry on, running his hands through her hair- he pushed the thoughts away, concentrating on keeping his voice low and his expression calm.

"No! I'm not getting involved in this! Haven't you taken enough from me!? Harry left, Bill died, Neville died, Fred got the Mark and died, Percy turned and killed the only one who can save us anymore and then killed himself! What else do you want from me!?"

Ginny ended in a shriek, which was quickly followed by the noise of someone pounding down the stairs. Draco backed up in a panic as one Ron Weasley appeared from around the corner, his wand drawn. Or Draco assumed it was Ron. His hair was meticulously tidy, his facial hair neatly trimmed into a horrid goatee, and sporting thin wire-frame glasses perched on his nose. He stopped abruptly, staring in shock at Draco. "Malfoy? You're in my house!"

Definitely Ron. No one else could approach his talent at stating the obvious. Add to that the fact that his accent had been horribly marred by years with the Yanks, and the sad picture of Wonder Boy's best friend was completed. Only Ginny's presence kept Draco from lapsing into hysterical laughter. However, some things he couldn't resist...

"You sound like a bloody Yank!" He allowed himself a snort of laughter before moving on. "You can ask Ginny why I'm here, Weasel. Not that it's your business."

"He's here to see Fred," Ginny murmured, stepping back to shadow her brother.

Ron was livid. "Get out, Death Eater. I should be calling the Aurors right now! They'll have you Kissed and in Azkaban before you can say Lucius Malfoy'! Oh, but that's right — your dear Dad is already a soulless blob!"

"How DARE you!" Draco had his wand out before he was aware of making the motion, barely conscious of Ginny's quiet "Ron, that was too much."

Before Draco could throw himself at Ron, two pops rang through the room, the signature sound of apparition. He spun to face the new threat, putting himself between Ginny and the intruder — though also allowing Ron a shot at his back in the bargain. The paranoia amounted to naught, however, as he came face to face with Fred's twin and the Granger girl. Less than surprisingly, their wands were trained on him as well.

"Malfoy? What the hell are you doing in my parents' house?!" George exclaimed. Every gesture, every sound the image of Fred — it was enough to give Draco pause.

"To say good-bye," he repeated. "I just want to say good-bye."

The voice of reason in the mess shocked him. Granger lowered her wand first, looking on him with sadness and something that resembled pity. Pity? For a Malfoy? "Ron? Let him."

"What do you mean, let him!?" the voice from behind him demanded. "He's a Death Eater, he probably put Imperious on my brothers for all I know! I bet he was the one who recruited them and poisoned them to make them do it!"

Granger reached out and grabbed hold of George's wand arm, pushing his aim from right between Draco's eyes. "I got the message to Albus. The one from Saturday."

"I know," Draco replied, gaze flickering over to George shortly. "The church was nearly empty on Sunday. I swear I didn't know about Percy, though. There was talk of a mission for this Sunday, but nothing about Percy."

Hermione nodded. "Snape believes you. And Minerva does too."

"They're mobilizing in Toronto," Draco blurted. "I don't know what the plan is for Sunday, I've been ordered to stay here. Voldemort is starting to suspect."

"Toronto?" George demanded. "There's never been a Death Eater attack in Canada! Or anywhere but Europe for that matter!"

A hand clamped on his shoulder, turning him to face Ron. "Harry. Do they know where Harry is?"

"I don't know!" Draco glanced back to Granger and George, finally coming to rest on Ginny. "I swear, I don't know what the plan is. Blaise is clueless too, though it doesn't surprise me in the least. You have to tell Severus — I don't think I can keep up the act much longer. I helped get Fred inside, and his showing up on Fudge's doorstep the day of the murder made it obvious what side he was working for!"

"We'll get you out, Malfoy." Granger clapped a hand on his shoulder, leading him toward a door from the sitting room. "We'll have Aurors in Toronto on Sunday and we'll fake your death, if we have to. Now, I think Fred is outside. Let's go say good-bye before more people show up?"

Draco nodded mutely and turned to glance at Ginny once more before being led from the room. Just before the kitchen door shut, he caught a glimpse of the four white roses on the mantle. Bill, Neville, Percy, Fred — she'd kept them.

The four remaining Weasley children and their parents buried the wayward two that morning, as the rest of the wizarding world stopped life to pay tribute to Albus Dumbledore. Hermione and Draco looked on, unaware of the watcher in the woods nearby.


	9. The Killer and the Cynic

A/N: And now, it's that time... you knew it was coming... Harry shows his face!

Thanks to sunny couger (Here, have a box of kleenex. Trust me, you'll need it!), Wendelin the Weird, bosch (I just read your review of Three Soldiers, and I'm truly honoured by it. Thank you SO incredibly much!), Iphigenia, Karna (who no longer owes me money!), Rose Rovente (*grin* I loved your drunk Weasley. That was a wonderfully disturbing story), S.Maldiva, Demeter (Go Slyth!), Phoenix Silverwind, Elspeth (Don't worry... stalker!Draco will certainly continue to show his face...), and Rachel for your reviews and continued support! It means a lot to me!

Chapter Eight — The Killer and the Cynic

"I've seen a thousand people kneel in silence,

I've seen them face the rifles with their songs.

I always thought that we could end the killings —

But now I live in fear that I was wrong."

-Peter, Paul, and Mary, "Greenwood"

Sunday, November 2, 2003

Harold Black kicked his feet up on the table and leaned back on the couch, ignoring the death-glare his wife shot his way. "I'm tired," he whined. "The Lewis case is really picking up right now. I had to go through ten years worth of bank statements and audits, and I had to try to link Lewis' campaign contributions to the Al Qaeda funds which are frozen. It's been a long day!"

"And I haven't had a long day?" Rachel countered. "I go back to work tomorrow. Why couldn't you have taken a single day off work to spend with the baby and me? He's two months on Tuesday!"

He nodded slowly and reached to ruffle his sleeping son's mop of curly black hair. "I'm sorry, Rach, I'll make it up to you. Dinner on Saturday? We can get the Walton's girl to sit. Or if you wanted, we could drop her at your Mum's and get Chinese take-away and watch one of those silly sappy movies you love with that Colin Firth git in them -"

"No matter how sexy I find that accent of yours, dear, you can never convince me that Colin Firth is anything but gorgeous! He's just so -"

Harry grinned and cut her off. "Dark and brooding. Yes, you've told me, love." He ducked a playful whack and made a beeline for the kitchen. "Coffee or tea, Rach?" 

"Coffee," she called back. "I can't understand why you Brits drink that foul stuff."

"I've always wondered why you Yanks drink that coffee sludge," he countered, grinning to himself. He ran a hand through his scruffy hair as he dug through a drawer for a tea strainer. Instead of metal, however, his hand connected with a slim rod of wood. With a start, he pulled his wand from the kitchen drawer, staring at it in shock. "What in God's name is this doing in here...?"

"What was that, hon?" Rachel called from the family room.

Harry shoved the wand into his pants pocket quickly and grabbed a teacup. "Nothing, Rach!" There was nothing magical in the house. Not a wizarding photograph nor a spellbook — not even his old Quidditch jersey bearing the Hogwarts crest. Everything which tied Harold Black to Harry James Potter had been left in a small flat in London four and a half years earlier. Everything but the wand.

The door slammed open in the front hall. Rachel's voice rang out. "My God — who the hell are you?" Harry dropped the teacup, ignoring the shattering of porcelain across the floor, and dashed to the family room in panic.

"Why Mr. Potter," the low voice of Lord Voldemort managed to fill the room. The robed figure raised his wand to point at Rachel. "Mr. Potter, I've been looking for you."

"Ron, dude, you're so pissed. If you try to Apparate home to LA, you'll get splinched somewheres over Utah. All those Mormons would wake up tomorrow and see this arm and this ass-ugly head floating over the Great Salt Lake." The Cincinnati Charms Seeker, Jesse Gable, grabbed Ron's shoulder as the inebriated Weasley lurched dangerously to the side.

With an over-exaggerated motion, Ron waved him aside. "I think is'my right t'get piss'd," he slurred, grabbing the back of a park bench to keep himself upright. The two Beaters laughed as he swayed to the side. "My big brothers went all psycho n killed people, n they're dead too. And we won the Cup! Lemme go home!"

Jesse hated being the stable one. "C'mon. You can cry your eyes out on my couch. You're not trying to Apparate like that." He took Ron's shoulders and carefully turned him in the direction of the small block of houses across the park. "We're almost there. Just don't pass out before we get to the front step, okay? I don't wanna lug your sorry ass inside."

Ron burst into a funeral-dirge rendition of the Hogwarts school song. It was tempting to throttle him, after hearing the same words a dozen times in the past hour, but Jesse held himself in check. "Hey, who lives'n the house next to you, Jesse?" Ron slurred after finishing his song. 

He grabbed his friend's arm to keep him upright as he lurched to the side. "Some Muggle guy. He's a lawyer's assistant, gotta wife and a little boy. Erm... Black? Harold Black. Why do you ask?"

"Mm. Guy in a robe just storm'd th'front door." Ron swayed again, then suddenly stood upright. "Harold Black? Bloody hell."

"Ron? C'mon, dude, you're not sober. Let's get you inside before you start seeing unicorns prancing down the street. This is suburban Cincinnati, dude." Ron started struggling against Jesse's hold on his arm. "Fine. If you're gonna be this way... you'll just hate yourself when the hangover's twice as bad..." Jesse pulled his wand. "Sobrieto."

Lurching to a halt, Ron blinked owlishly at Jesse. "Erm... thanks, Jess. How good are you at hexes?"

Jesse peered at Ron closely. "Umm... fair. Wasn't my best subject at Salem. Why?"

Ron patted his pocket for his wand. "Because I think your neighbor is a good friend of mine from school. And I think a Death Eater just went in his front door."

A yelp of alarm filled the street as Jesse turned to stare at his neighbor's house in horror. As if on cue, a flash of green light issued from the front windows, followed by a mournful cry and the sound of a baby screaming. Ron and Jesse took off toward the house in unison.

Harry whipped his wand from his pocket and leveled it at Voldemort. He could've sworn, just for a moment, that the sound of the Hogwarts school song, sung to a mournful dirge, filled the air. The tall figure only chuckled softly in response. "It's me you want! Just leave her alone!" The baby was awake, sniffling and cradled in his mother's arms.

Harold? What's going on? Why are you -"

"I don't think it's your place to be making demands, Mr. Potter." Red eyes glinted, the thin mouth curved in a final triumph. "By the looks of this disgusting hole, you haven't practiced magic in years. I could easily kill your wife before you could send off a single spell."

Rachel glanced to Harry blankly. "Magic? Who's Mr. Potter?"

Voldemort kept chuckling, grinning broadly. "You didn't tell her who you are. Why doesn't it surprise me in the least?" He turned just slightly to face Rachel. "Your husband is the famous Harry James Potter. Never heard of him? He thought he defeated me when he was only a baby, barely older than your little one."

"Why won't you leave me alone!? I want nothing to do with magic or Death Eaters or the Light Side or the Dark Side! I left it behind! Why can't you leave me in peace!?" Harry stepped forward, wand hand shaking in his desperation.

"Now, now, Harry," Voldemort hissed, grin broadening, "this scene is so familiar to me. You look so like your father... he shook in fear before I took his life. And your lovely wife — the hair color is wrong, of course, but the curls are familiar. I'll bet the child looks just like you."

Rachel carefully set James on the couch behind her and moved to place herself between the baby and Voldemort. "Harold, I thought your parents died in a car crash."

"No, love," Harry murmured, breathing deeply to keep from throwing himself at the Dark Lord in a fit of rage. "He killed them. I'm sorry, Rachel." One last chance. "Stupe -"

Voldemort was faster. "Expelliarmus!" he cried, sending Harry's wand in one direction and his body in the other. He hit the wall with a smack, crying out in pain as one knee smashed against a table. The lamp rocked and fell forward, smashing loudly on the wooden floor. Rachel screamed and the baby burst into tears. Harry was too blinded by pain to decide on a course of action.

"Now then, Muggle," Voldemort continued, as if oblivious to his enemy's pain, "if you're lucky, your son would be like your husband and I — powerful beyond any of your wildest imaginings. It's too bad, really, that you chose to marry Potter and profane the wizarding blood the way you have."

Harry struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his uninjured leg and shaking his head wildly. "Don't do it! You gave my mum the chance to get out — kill me, torture me, it doesn't matter, just leave my wife alone!" 

Rachel turned slowly to meet his gaze, putting her back to Voldemort. She knew. Her own death was reflected in the unshed tears glistening in her brown eyes. "I love you, Harry."

"No... Rachel..." Emotion caught his breath in his throat. He only had a moment before it was too late. "Love you, Rach."

"Avada Kedavra." The dread words echoed, followed by a flash of hideous green light. Harry choked on the tears already flowing down his face as he was forced to watch his wife crumple to the ground. The Dark Lord smiled coldly. "Your little son, then? I bet his name is James. Too bad you profaned the blood rather than finding a nice witch to marry — if you'd been smart, your son's blood would carry the same protections as yours."

Harry swallowed his tears. "Why me? What makes it so important that you destroy me?"

"You're the weapon that could be used to stop me, of course. Dumbledore knew it — too bad he's dead. You left and the wizarding world crumbled under my foot. I should thank you, Potter, for making my victory so easy." Voldemort kept grinning, turning the wand from the baby to Harry. "This is too easy. Like taking candy from a child. Why don't you fight me, Potter? Why don't you offer your life for your son's? Your father did."

"My father thought there might be a chance, I suppose. I know better." Harry stood tall, straightening his button-down shirt absentmindedly. "If you're going to do it, get it over with. Rachel's waiting."

A hint of a frown appeared. "No pleading? No screams? I expected more, Potter. Maybe we should try this one more time... Crucio."

White-hot bolts of agony, pain more terrible than he'd ever experienced. Harry dropped to his knees, screaming at the sensations. There was no need to play it brave, after all. Death waited, no matter his reaction.

Vaguely, he heard the door to the house slamming forward before the agony stopped. He heard a familiar voice cry out his name, he heard Voldemort shout out, "Morsmordra!" and the pop of someone apparating away. 

With shaking legs and spasms of muscle, Harry pulled himself to his feet to look forlornly at his would-be rescuers, a goatee-faced redhead and a blonde. No words were uttered as he stumbled to his wife's side and sunk to the floor, pulling her body into his arms. "Rachel," he whispered, utterly lost.

A/N: Next time — George comes to terms.


	10. Torn

A/N: Grr. Stupid ff.net, being down... Oh, I'd like to thank my beta, Brad. Haven't done that yet. When it comes to useless trivia (such as the name of the Cincinnati paper mentioned within) he's the king. Also, for further note, chapters from this point on will tend to alternate between groups of characters, until they all come together near the climax. I'm guessing 20ish chapters at the moment, but we'll see where the story drags me!

Chapter Nine — Torn

"I'm all out of faith, this is how I feel

I'm cold and I am shamed, lying naked on the floor

Illusion never changed into something real

Wide awake, and I can see the perfect sky is torn — 

You're a little late, I'm already torn."

-Natalie Imbruglia

Monday, November 3, 2003

George shoveled breakfast into his mouth mechanically on his first morning as a Hogwarts professor. He was barely conscious of Hermione sitting next to him and engaging Snape in some conversation or another. The roar of children laughing over their eggs and sausage wasn't enough to distract him from the picture burned into his mind. Three graves beneath the willow tree.

"... George Weasley, your new Transfiguration Professor." He jerked back to reality as Minerva smiled over in his direction and the tables applauded politely. "He's spent the last three years as an Auror in good standing with the Ministry and has been called from duty early to take my old position." George was grateful. No mention of his brothers or his dismissal from the service due to Fred and Percy's betrayal of the Light. "George is also an Animagus. Any questions about the process to become an Animagus can now be directed to Professor Weasley."

He smiled as best he could at the excited expressions on a few of the student's faces. It had been the ultimate prank — Gred and Forge, the Gryffindor Animagi, just like the fabled Marauders had been. George sighed softly and dropped his fork, moving his gaze down to his hands. Had Fred used the form he'd spent so long perfecting to sneak behind Auror lines and help Voldemort kill those George knew?

"Are you listening to me?" George glanced up in surprise at Hermione, who poked him sharply in the ribs. "George, Minerva just announced a meeting before classes. Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Fine," he murmured, pushing himself to his feet.

Hermione shook her head and pulled him back into his chair. "It's a few minutes yet. No need to rush off." She reached over and snatched a newspaper from between Snape and Demitrius, the Herbology Professor after Sprout's death. "You haven't read the headlines, have you."

George stared at the paper blankly. There, in Muggle black and white, was the outline of the Dark Mark as it floated above a suburban home. "Strange shape seen in Cincinnati sky, three found dead," he read softly. "The Black family? Wait, this is a Muggle newspaper. Mione, is the Black family —?"

"Yeah," she whispered. "I think Harry's dead. If you keep reading the story, there are some photographs inside. It says Harold Black was a lawyer at a firm in Cincinnati, and there's a picture of his wife and son." Hermione swallowed loudly and bit her lip, tears visibly forming in her eyes. "If he couldn't even escape Voldemort by leaving everything behind, what does that mean for us?"

With a quick squeeze of her hand, George tossed the paper aside. "Come down to my room after classes today? We can have a drink and cry. You can't do it here, Mione."

"I know." She glanced over as McGonagall rose from her seat and followed suit. "Time to put on a happy face for the students."

"If I don't watch it, I'll be as sour as Snape," George murmured, allowing himself a wry grin as he stood and followed Hermione out of the Great Hall.

She smirked back at him. "He's not forgiven you for that stunt you pulled in your last year with the Canary Cream and dye in the Polyjuice Potion."

George sighed happily in remembrance. "Severus Snape, the psychedelic pink canary. Angie and Katie thought it was the best prank we ever pulled — even better than the toilet seats on Christmas." Angelina and Katie, best friends buried side by side in Ottery St. Catchpole, killed in the same, terrible accident. The smile faded. "Me and Alicia are the only Gryffindors from my year left."

Minerva pushed open the door of the Headmistress' office up ahead and gestured for the teachers to come forward. Whatever response Hermione may've had was put off. "I'm sure you've all read the paper which I passed around this morning. The Cincinnati Enquirer is a well-respected Muggle paper. There's no way we'll be able to obliviate the thousands of American Muggles who get that paper every morning."

"Harold Black was a wizard, then?" Demetrius Dendron asked. He reminded George of Neville — another grave in Ottery St. Catchpole.

McGonagall shot Dendron a glance to silence him. "Indeed. And not just any wizard. However... the paper was wrong in a few places. Only one died yesterday. The other two bodies were transfigured to throw off the Muggle police — though I'm quite positive Voldemort knows that Mr. Black is alive."

Hermione let out a cry and grabbed George's arm. He was dragged past Minerva and into the office, face to face with Remus Lupin and a scruffy-haired, green-eyed, lightning-bolt scarred — "Oh, Harry, I thought you were dead!" Hermione shouted, throwing her arms around him. Harry Potter. 

Harry looked up, glancing blankly to Hermione's bushy, sobbing head before meeting George's gaze. His eyes looked dead, glassy from crying. "Ron?" he asked softly.

George turned and fled.

"That was George," Hermione murmured. "Ron's in Los Angeles."

Harry's gaze moved slowly from the doorway to Hermione. He sighed mournfully and didn't respond.

Hermione glanced over to Remus in confusion. His response was a shrug. "That's the first thing he's said since Ron brought him from the wreckage. His wife was killed."

In response, he whispered something inaudible and broke into a sob. Hermione hugged him close. "Is Ron going to come home? Now that Harry's back? We can help him together, I think."

"He's a father," Remus offered. "The baby is asleep in Minerva's room. He won't tell us what his son's name is. Or his wife's name... or anything. Poppy said he's in some sort of shock."

"I thought that seeing you might pull him out of it," McGonagall noted. She leaned against the doorframe, the sneer of Severus Snape and the eager glances of Flitwick and Hagrid visible past her shoulder.

"He thought George was Ron," she murmured. "Ron looks odd now, with that ridiculous goatee. Minerva, take him down to George's classroom? Maybe that would snap him out of it again?" Hermione looked at Harry. His eyes stared back, blankly.

George lowered himself slowly into his chair, trying to keep his hands from shaking. There were no students in the classroom yet, and for that he was extremely grateful. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Bloody Left. Running was the only way he could keep himself from hitting the bastard hard enough to set his head spinning.

The door opened and George's gaze snapped over to watch impassively. A short, dark haired girl — probably a sixth or seventh year — with long, bouncing curls crept into the classroom, holding a pile of textbooks. She smiled winningly.

George put on his best Snape-face as stared back with a firm scowl. He pulled out his class lists and glanced at his Monday morning. Seventh year Slytherins. He scowled menacingly. She beamed back. "Class doesn't start for a half-hour. Why are you here already?"

"I want to be an animagus!" she proclaimed, tossing her ebony curls over a shoulder. "Dina Nott, Slytherin Prefect. What animal do you become?"

Not a Malfoy. At least she wasn't another bloody Malfoy. "A fox." A bright red fox, the same exact shade as his Weasley-red hair. Fred had been a coyote. Fred, the trickster.

"A fox? Oh. That's too bad. At least you weren't a rat or something equally horrid. Or a weasel. Wouldn't that be funny, Weasley the Weasel?" She tittered and tossed her hair again, obviously incredibly amused by her own sense of humor.

"Mm," George replied, hoping that a non-commital answer would get her off his back, if only for a moment. He thought he made a rather striking fox.

Dina Nott kept smiling. "Well, then, how do I do it? I'm sure it can't be that hard. After all, plenty of Gryffindors have done it in the past."

He bit his lip, and remained silent. He had the sudden urge to find the Seventh-year Slytherin Girl's Dormitory and test several of the pranks Fred had invented which had never made it to production. She was doing more than asking for it. She was begging, on hands and knees, to be made the center of a spectacular prank... and now he was a teacher. George glared coldly and shuffled through his course schedules.

Dina's cheerful smile morphed into a superior smirk as she settled back into her chair. She seemed content in having insulted someone of much higher standing within the school society. George let her. He may have lost the power of prank with the loss of his childhood, but he'd gained the power of detention.

Before George had time to respond, the door of the classroom slammed open once again. He barely had time to register the faces in the door before Dina Nott was on her feet, eyes wide in shock. "Harry... Potter...?"

The blank gaze focused squarely on George, who stared back in defiance. Harry didn't respond. He slowly flickered his gaze around the Transfiguration classroom before returning to George. When he finally spoke, his voice was harsh and low, clouded by emotion. "Ron? Where's Dumbledore?"

For George, the world went red. The boy who lived, returning to ignore the family who took him in — George lept to his feet, kicking his chair out of the way and made a mad dash for the door. Dina yelped, Professor McGonagall called his name in horror... and George's fist connected with Harry's nose.

He figured he should be grateful to whomever pulled him off the Man Who Left, holding him back to keep him from doing any more harm to Dumbledore's precious golden boy. "God damn you, Potter!" he spat, making sure to keep every word clear enough for the daft git to understand. "You left! Fred's dead, Bill's dead, Percy's dead! Why'd you fucking leave us!?"

It was Snape who had his shoulders and led him from the classroom. Dragged him, more like it. George didn't bother to fight. His first day on the job, and he'd already managed to slug Britain's last hope.

A/N: Next time — A mob at the Ministry.


	11. Reign of Terror

A/N: Thank God for spring break... I've just finished the draft of chapter 15, actually! Quick thanks to all the reviewers — I can't access the page for some reason, to give a proper Role of Honour, but I'll do that next time. Keep up the reviews, I love to hear what everyone thinks!

Chapter Ten - Reign of Terror

"The blood he spilled,

Jerusalem! Jerusalem!

So many killed,

Gone all of them, gone all of them."

-Peter, Paul and Mary, "Hayo, Haya"

Monday, November 3, 2003

Draco Malfoy hung back in the shadows of an alley, watching the mob gather outside the Ministry of Magic building. He heard the chant of Dumbledore's name, a chant which quickly grew louder. A demand to install a new Minister of Magic immediately, and a demand to see the Weasleys still employed standing trial for the deaths of Dumbledore and Fudge. Draco cursed softly, watching the crowd lose control.

It was late afternoon in London, one of the rare sunny days one prays for. The mob was there in force, biding their time until a Weasley appeared on the steps of the Ministry. It was nothing more than a lynch mob, reading to pounce on their unsuspecting prey and drag him — or, God forbid, her — off to a nice quiet park to smack around until they grew tired of it.

Continuing to curse under his breath, Draco backed more deeply into the recesses of the alley. Ginny would be getting off work soon. He knew her schedule by heart. She'd walk down from her office and open the front door only to be attacked by a crowd seeking blood. Concentrating, Draco murmured the words of a spell and pulled a simple glamour over himself — darken the hair, disguise the color of the eyes. Enough veela blood ran through his veins to use the not-quite-Dark magic.

Moments later, a man looking quite unlike Draco Malfoy crept out from the alley and pushed his way through the crowd, joining in the chant for Azkaban. No Aurors came to quell the crowd of protestors. In fact, Draco was quite sure that a few of the proud peace-keepers of the wizarding world were among those crying for Arthur Weasley's resignation. He inched forward, pushing his way closer to the doors, intent on the goal. 

He could care less what happened to the other Weasleys. Or he would, except for Ginny and Fred. He'd been taught to hate Weasleys, but Molly and Arthur had spawned his best friend and the woman he... desired? Idolized? Needed. Loved.

Draco roughly shoved aside a man who loudly called for Fred's twin to be Kissed by the Dementors. He shuddered at the thought — Fred's twin was an Auror, probably as loyal to Dumbledore's order as Lucius Malfoy had been to Voldemort's. Aurors. Fanatics. Either word suited them all.

With a final push, he reached his goal, the foot of the stairs, head of the mob. The moment Ginny stepped through the door, he'd throw himself forward and Apparate with her. She'd have no time to think, no time to be afraid of the mob hurtling at her, no time for the mob to try to rip her to shreds. He waited.

Mere steps away, behind the ancient door of the Ministry building, Ginny and her father waited in silence, listening to the chants for their deaths. Parvati hurried over from a nearby office, shaking her head. "Mr. Weasley, the back way is blocked too. And we're still not reconnected to the Floo network."

Ginny watched her father impassively as he swore. "Dad, the apparition field ends at the top of the stairs. We open the doors, take a few steps, and we're home at the Burrow..."

"They'll get to us before we have a chance," Arthur murmured back. "Damn, damn, damn. How long before they give up, do you think?"

Parvati shrugged almost imperceptably, cringing away from the yelled promises of violence from outside. "I don't think they'll go anywhere. They're likely to storm the building itself... will you have enough time to get everything you need before they reform in Ottery St. Catchpole?"

"Mark?" Arthur called to a mousey man dashing across the grand entrance hall. "Did you get that owl off to Molly?"

"Mailing Charlie's now!" he shouted back, turning to take the stairs two at a time.

"Parvati, go talk to Moody, he should be in his office. I need to know how many Aurors are part of the crowd." As she nodded and scurried off, Arthur sighed deeply, pulling his daughter into a hug. "They stormed the Ministry in '78. They were trying to get Headmaster Dumbledore proclaimed Minister, that time. It was a near coup — I was working as a secretary in Muggle Artifacts then. It was one of the most frightening moments of my life."

Ginny gave her father a peck on the cheek and a tenuous smile. "It didn't work then, and it won't work now. Plus, this is nowhere near as frightening as Ron's graduation day. We survived that, didn't we?"

"We survived," he murmued, more to himself than Ginny. "Is Parvati far enough from the door, do you think?"

She gave a nod. "They won't connect her to us, when they push inside."

Arthur gave a nod back. "Almost time, then." He stepped back and straightened his robes, making a beeline for the first office. Yanking the door wide, he poked his head in. "Gordon, get your staff upstairs. They're getting pushy."

As if to support his statement, another round of shouts came from the mob, coupled with the sounds of something being thrown against the door. Ginny backed away with a start to watch Undersecretary Gordon and the rest of his staff lugging boxes of papers toward the stairs. Arthur moved back to her side. "That's the last of them. The records should be in the vaults before everyone makes it upstairs."

"Dad, what if they go too far? Are they going to blame all of the staff for what Percy did?" She felt sixteen again. In her mind's eye, the shouts outside became the shouts of the Death Eaters trying to take Hogwarts; the sounds of students crying in fear, the echoes of the curse aimed at Harry. The curse a convict took to save him.

"Moody's up there. He'll know how to handle them." Arthur leaned over and planted a kiss on Ginny's forehead, drawing her back from the memories. "Whatever you do, don't Apparate to the Burrow. Ron's safe in New York, wrapping up from the Quidditch Cup... Charlie's in Scottland, he'll join us as soon as he gets the owl... George's safe at Hogwarts. I'll get your Mum and we'll be out of the house in a few minutes."

She gave a quick nod. "I'll meet you at Hogwarts tomorrow. I'll get past the Aurors somehow."

Another peck on her forehead, and Arthur nodded. "I'm going to open the door. I want you to run to the edge of the field, get out, and don't look back."

"Be careful, Daddy." Ginny stepped forward, picturing in her mind the back alley behind the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. If she could make it there, it was mere moments from the doors of her old school. Hogsmeade. She could make it. The roar of the crowd was a smooth crescendo.

The doors parted. Five steps to the edge of the warding field. She heard a ripple of shouts moving through the crowd, caught sight of someone in Auror's robes rushing her.

Four steps. Three. The crowd was rushing, someone was pointing a wand in her direction. Two. A brown-haired man she didn't recognize grabbed for her arms as she plowed right at him.

One. His hands grabbed at her, pulling her past the wards. He Apparated, pulling her with him.

Hermione cuddled Harry's curly-haired son in her arms, holding the sleeping baby close. She made a poor shield against the dangers of the outside. Even his parents wouldn't have been able to save him. According to Headmistress McGonagall, only the entrance of Ron and one of his Cincinnati Charms friends had stopped a second death from occuring the night before... and no one was quite sure why two Quidditch players were enough to scare off the Lord of Darkness.

A single word from the wireless in the corner of the staff room snapped her back to attention. She flicked her wand to bring the volume a bit higher. "... crowd of nearly two hundred protesters gathered outside the Ministry of Magic this afternoon, calling for the resignation of both Arthur and Virginia Weasley, father and sister respectively of the men responsible for the murders of Albus Dumbledore and Minister Cornelius Fudge last Tuesday. Witnesses report that just after four o'clock, the two Weasleys in question exited the front of the Ministry building. A man described as dark-haired and tall snatched Virginia Weasley from the steps and Apparated away. Arthur Weasley was attacked by the crowd, and is reported to be in very critical condition at an undisclosed location. At this time, anyone with information as to the location of Virginia Weasley is urged to contact the Aurors -"

Another flick of the wrist, and the terrible news was over. Hermione cuddled the child close and sobbed.

A/N: Next chapter, Ginny meets her savior and Ron sees Hermione.


	12. Ashamed of What You Feel

A/N: Figured I'd post this one... and give a very short explanation of my version of glamoury. In this universe, glamoury is a faery magic, one used by the veela in particular. A very wonderful story out there, "A Father's Sin" by Severitus (highly recommended!) paints an entirely different picture of glamoury... Just wanted to note the specifics. Oh, and I've tabulated the results... and there will be either 36 or 37 chapters in total. Good God, what am I doing to myself!

Role of honor: Bellemaine Chercoer, Virgomoon, sunnycougar (don't worry about Arthur, he'll be okay! No more Weasleys will be killed in the making of this fic!), Krissy (oooh, thanks! That was one of my favourite bits from last chapter, myself! And keep on the lookout for Ginny learning the truth... the chapter will be called, of course, "The Rose"), lupe silverwing (::offers another packet of tissues:: Come chapter 25, if things stay along the outline, you'll definitely be needing it...), Lazy author (::chortles:: nice name), and "me" (and... nice name to you, too ;) On with the angst!

Chapter Eleven – Ashamed of What You Feel

"But no, I don't want to play

Being with you touches me more than I can say

But since I'm only dead to you, I'm saying stay away

And let me rest in peace."

-Buffy Cast, "Rest in Peace"

Monday, November 3, 2003

Draco appeared in a small corner between shops, still holding Ginny's arms tightly. The two went flying due to pre-Apparition momentum and smacked with an audible thud against the bricks of a building. Note to self, Draco mused – Apparition and the Laws of Physics do not cancel each other out. Pain flashed through his skull, but he shook it off.

Ginny looked slightly unfocused as she met Draco's gaze. After a moment of confused silence, her eyes suddenly widened as she sucked in breath to scream. His reaction was immediate, as he clamped his hand over her mouth. "Don't. I've Apparated us behind a café in Knockturn Alley. I doubt many of the people around here would take kindly to a Muggle-loving Weasley, no matter what your brothers did."

The shock in her eyes betrayed her. She clearly had not a clue what was going on. Frowning deeply, Draco stared back in confusion. She didn't even seem to recognize him... "It's me, Draco Malfoy. It's just a glamour, I'm an eighth veela."

Very calmly, Ginny gathered her strength and shoved him across the alley. "Don't touch me. What the hell do you think you're doing? Knocturn Alley? I've got to get out of here before they lynch me!"

"Trust me? Just for a minute?" At her skeptical glare, he shot into his explanation. "They certainly won't be looking for you here. They WILL be looking for you in Hogsmeade, however. You're going to Hogwarts, right?"

"How did you know that?" She frowned, stepping away from the wall. "Why were you in the crowd? How did you know they were gathering?"

"There were Death Eaters behind the mob, egging them on. I saw Goyle and Nott, and Avery at the very least. As it was done with Voldemort's sanction, I was told to show up too." Draco reached out, setting his hand on Ginny's hair. He murmured a spell before she could jerk back. Her hair darkened and changed to a mousey-brown. "There. I bet your own brothers wouldn't recognize you."

She pushed his hand away, nonetheless. "Why are you doing this? I don't understand... you made six years of my life a living hell! Your father nearly killed me when I was only eleven years old!"

"Ginny," he whispered, reaching out to take her shoulders and hold her tightly. "I'm sorry for every hurt I helped cause to you. I wish that could make amends, though I know it can't. It seems I've put you in another one, through my own stupidity. Blaise said that I... mentioned your name during a torture session I have no more memory of."

"You WHAT -?"

He plowed onward, cutting her off as quickly as he could. "You're in terrible danger, and just making it to Hogwarts won't be enough – for either of us. You're right to bring up the diary, you know. Whether you like it or not, part of Tom Riddle touched you. If Lord Voldemort gets his hands on you, I'm not sure what will happen."

"Fine time to warn me, Malfoy." Ginny twisted from his grasp, stalking toward the edge of the darkened alley. "If Hogwarts isn't safe, what is? The papers said You-Know-Who struck the Yanks yesterday."

She spat his name, as if disgusted by it. Draco tried not to wince, but failed miserably. He'd done it again, managed to hurt her – and this time, he was only trying to help. "Blaise said she'd hide you for a few nights. You can trust her. She's been hit just as hard by losing Fred as the rest of us."

Ginny snorted derisively. "And now you're trying to convince me that my brother was involved with a Death Eater? I'm sorry if I can't believe you, Malfoy."

"Please, give me a chance." The name again; tasing sour on her lips, he was sure. "I know I've given you no reason to trust me, but both our lives are in danger."

Light brown hair swirled around her face as she turned back to him. He reveled in the contours as he had the day of Fred's funeral, eyes caressing and longing. "If Fred and Hermione trusted you, I suppose you're not working for You-Know-Who. I'll come with you, for now – but I have to get to Hogwarts before any more decisions are made. I need to find my family."

"Fine," Draco agreed eagerly. Hurrying to the edge of the alley, he grabbed hold of one of her arms and dragged her onto the dismal main section of Knockturn Alley. "We'll take the floo over. Safer." 

He tried to ignore the gaze of loathing she fixed on him as she tried to yank her arm from his grasp. Draco didn't let her, and hurried onward, despite the mental image of a white flower wilting.

Ron stepped into the staff lounge hesitantly, getting the strong feeling that Snape or McGonagall was waiting just around the corner to swoop down and take 50 points from Gryffindor. He shook it off as quickly as it came, sparing a moment to push his glasses up. Even after years of adulthood, the teacher's lounge felt like a taboo place.

And there, curled up in a ragged chair that looked nearly as old as the building itself, Hermione was sleeping silently. Harry's infant was cuddled in her arms, sleeping as well, and her face was red with dried tears. Ron gave a mournful sigh and slipped into a chair across from her.

Only after being reassured by her even breathing that he hadn't awakened her, Ron spoke softly. "I'm back, Mione. I'm sorry I left like that. I know it's been years, and I know I hurt you when I ran off – but I found Harry. He's back now, it'll be the three of us, the way it used to be."

"Nothing is the way it used to be."

Ron sprung from his seat, spinning to face the voice from behind him. He was perched on the edge of a hard wooden chair, sitting straight as a line, his dark hair more tousled and ill-kept than Ron had seen it. "Harry?"

"Nothing is the way it used to be," he repeated, eyes cold as ice behind wire-rim glasses. Before Ron could respond, the emerald eyes flickered to the floor. "Why did you follow me? I didn't want to be found. I was happy. I had Rachel and James, and Rachel's family was wonderful... I had a job, I liked being a lawyer. I helped make sure the ones who are locked away were really the guilty ones. I was finally proud of myself. I tried to forget magic and Hogwarts and Voldemort – and then he showed up on my doorstep and tore my happiness to shreds yet again! And then – you came in. I wanted to die! Why didn't you let me die!?"

Gaping silently, Ron stared. Suddenly, the lines of his friend's face made him look ancient. He noticed the bits of grey peppering the locks of black, the creases marring youth, and the dullness shading the green eyes which had been so full of life. So many questions.

Ron barely noticed as Hermione shoved him aside, the baby cradled protectively in her arms. "Harry, don't say that. You don't want to die. What would happen to your son?"

The slightest hint of a smile lit Harry's face. "He has his mum's curls. He'll be two months old, tomorrow. Rachel... Rach was supposed to go back to work today."

"Tell me about her, Harry? I wish I could've met her. She must've been wonderful." Hermione shifted James to one arm and placed the other on Harry's arm, leading him away from Ron and the teacher's lounge.

"She was perfect," he whispered. "She would've liked you, Hermione. She was wonderful."

Ron looked on in silence, sinking down into a chair as Harry and Hermione disappeared down the hallway. Chasing after windmills, Fred had joked, before Ron picked up everything and moved to New York in search of Harry. Four years, three jobs, nine girlfriends and a war later, Ron finally realized what his brother had meant. Change caught up with him.

A/N: Next time... George talks to Snape, and Blaise's role takes another step!


	13. Phantom Faces at the Window

A/N: And, just a little early, chapter 12. Role of honour will be at the bottom, to save space — but a quick address to Amy G — yes, you're correct! It's the Imperius curse, not Imperious, as spellcheck for MicrosoftWord says. I've had other problems with spellcheck and Harry Potter words... example (as illustrated by beta Smiley4):

The Dark Lord towered over Harry, wand pointed between the boy's eyes. "This is it, Harry," he grinned, serpentine red eyes glinting evilly. He took in a deep breath, the final triumph and death of Harry Potter only two words away... two simple little words... and the Dark Lord spoke...

"Avid Cheddar."

There was a moment of silence as Harry and Voldemort stared at each other blankly. Then, Voldemort cursed loudly and glared at his wand. "Goddamnit! I knew I shouldn't have upgraded to a Microsoft Wand Core™!"

(Right. Now, read the REAL story.)

Chapter Twelve — Phantom Faces at the Window

"Oh my friends, my friends 

Don't ask me what your sacrifice was for

Empty chairs at empty tables,

Now my friends will sing no more."

-Les Miserables, "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables"

Tuesday, November 4, 2003

George sat silently and stared contemplatively at the bruises on his knuckles. He was in McGonagall's office, waiting for the new Headmistress to march through the door and proclaim his fate. His first day on the job, and he'd managed to lose it completely.

The door slammed open, and George glanced over to find himself eye to eye with Professor Snape. Stifling a moan, he slid down in his seat. "Mr. Weasley, I'm sure you're quite familiar with the interior of this office?"

"How is it that, despite the fact I'm twenty-four years old and teaching at this school, you still treat me as if I were a first-year?" As soon as George finished, he regretted it. Snape's scowl deepened to a full-blown glare of contempt. Having been at the receiving end dozens of times before, George cringed further into his chair, resigned to a long session of rants.

"Did you ever consider the possibility that if you acted as an adult, I'd treat you as one? You've hardly earned the designation. Trapsing around the hall drunk, punching guests — and no matter how much I'd enjoy slugging Potter, I've never done it. Do you think you were acting as an adult would? I'm sorry your brothers died, but that's no excuse for the pitiful behavior you've shown since your arrival." Snape gave a snort of disgust.

"So I'm an overgrown child. I used to run a joke shop, I thought that was rather obvious already." George sighed. "I've made some mistakes, yes. I'm not going to plead to keep this job, because I obviously messed up rather horribly. I didn't hurt Potter too badly, did I?"

Snape gave another snort, lowering himself into McGonagall's chair. "Not badly enough. However, I think the blow was enough to snap him out of the shock. If I hit you, will it do the same, do you think?"

"Sorry if I'm not peppy enough for you, Professor. If you're done with the lecture, should I go downstairs to clean out my quarters?" George pushed himself to his feet, waiting as politely as he could for Snape's dismissal.

"You'll do no such thing." George stopped cold, staring at the dark man in disbelief. "If you'll promise not to hit McGonagall's little celebrity another time, Minerva has been kind enough to allow you to stay on here."

George shook his head sharply, trying not to gape. "I don't understand... I messed up on my first day, I didn't even teach my first class -"

"We need a Transfiguration master. I tend to agree with Minerva that you'd be fine at the job — after all the skills you learned in your attempts to drive away my sanity, even I have to admit that I'm impressed with your abilities." Snape sneered, managing to make even the compliment less appealing.

He smiled anyway. After all, if SNAPE of all people thought him to be a good candidate for the job, he must be. Or perhaps he was the only one. Either way, he was the new professor of Transfiguration. "In that case, I have a class to teach."

"Headmistress McGonagall is going to cover that class today. Your father is in the hospital wing. I believe your mother has arrived safely as well."

The happiness fled from his face. He squeezed his eyes shut against the panic welling up. "My brothers? Ginny?"

The pause before Snape continued didn't bode well. "Charlie returned to Romania, did he not? Ron is here, no doubt mooning over Potter. Ginny..." The pause, again. George sucked in a sharp breath before Snape continued. "Ginny is unaccounted for, since yesterday. According to your father, a brown-haired man grabbed her and Apparated her away from the mob which overtook your father. We can only hope that this man wasn't helping the mob."

George sunk back into his chair and buried his face in his hands, trying to compose himself. "What about the spies? Malfoy showed up at my brother's funeral."

"We pull them out on Monday. That gives us a week to sort out plans, Secret Keepers, and hiding places. And you, George, are going to help me."

Ginny awoke curled up on a plush bed, tucked in among silken pillows and soft sheets. She allowed herself a languid stretch before opening her eyes and taking in the opulence of Blaise Zabini's mansion. The room itself would probably cost the salaries of all the Weasleys living for an entire year — gauzy draperies floated around the giant bed and intricately carved tables and dressers filled the enormous room. Ginny let herself imagine living among such riches for only a moment before she slid out of the bed and her borrowd pyjamas and pulled on the same muggle clothing and robe she'd worn the day before.

"If miss would follow me?" a house-elf murmured, startling her. She smiled to the little creature, following him through a maze of gilded corridors and richly carpeted rooms. They arrived moments later at a small sitting room, where Ginny tried in vain to make herself comfortable in a room easily more expensive than her entire house.

She waited only a little while before a woman garbed in robes of elegant emerald satin swept into the room, Draco Malfoy, in refined black, escorting her. "Virginia, I'm sure you remember Blaise? Duchess Zabini was a classmate of mine in Slytherin."

Ginny gaped, then attempted to cover it up. A Duchess? Her brother... and a Duchess...? "I... I'm afraid I don't. But since I was in Gryffindor and a year younger -"

"It's not surprising, Ginny," Blaise smiled, sweeping herself into a cushioned chair with a grace Ginny could only strive to meet. "Enough with this ridiculous formality. You don't remember me, and I wouldn't you, if not for Draco and Fred."

"Is it true?" she blurted, sparing a glance to Malfoy. "You and Fred...?"

Blaise too looked over to Draco. "What did you tell her?"

"Just that... you and Fred... I mean, I didn't really say anything..." He trailed off under the cold gaze of the duchess. Ginny went back to gaping. The mere thought of Draco Malfoy backing down in front of anyone was almost too much to take in.

"Draco, would you go find the butler and have a meal be readied? Ginny and I have a few things to talk about, which I'm sure you'll find less than interesting." Blaise, every inch proclaiming her nobility, lifted her hand daintily.

With a polite kiss to the back of her hand, Draco bowed. "Of course, Duchess." And with that, he disappeared down the hall.

Despite the rudeness, Ginny turned and sputtered. "Malfoy — he bowed? And he looked subservient?"

"He was in the presence of one who ranks above him." Blaise shrugged lightly. "I'm a duchess, he's only a baron. Voldemort or no Voldemort, he owes me respect. Now, then about your brother -"

"Wait, Malfoy's a BARON?"

Blaise made a non-commital sound. "Of course he is. They've been landed gentry in... France, I believe, since the thirteenth century. MY family has held land in England since there was a king. Really, Ginny, did you think that old wizarding families held no sway in the Muggle world? Why, until the act that separated the spheres of influence, most wizard families were up to their ears in Muggle intrigue!"

Speech failing her, Ginny merely shrugged and tried not to whimper. Somehow, in only a few sentances, the Slytherin woman had managed to unnerve her completely.

"Now, of course, none of it makes any difference. You're here at my invitation. Soon, we'll be forced into hiding. Despite what the mark on my arm suggests, I am less than loyal to that pathetic commoner. I refuse to allow him to rule over the land my family has lorded over for more than a thousand years." Blaise made an affronted noise and leaned back in her seat to start examining her perfectly manicured nails. "Draco made a terrible mistake in calling out your name, but it's too late to try to fix that now, and while Draco's chateau in France is too obvious a place for the lot of us to go into hiding, I'm sure Severus will find us an excellent -"

"Why are you assuming I'll be going anywhere with the lot of you?" Ginny cut in. Chateaus, nobles, France... it was too much to take in.

Blaise let out a less than ladylike snort. "You really are intending to hide out at Hogwarts, then. Please, Ginny, think about all of this for a moment. While some of the enchantments on the castle are permanent, others were contingent upon Headmaster Dumbledore's life. Until McGonagall repairs the wards and creates a new set to replace Dumbledore's, Hogwarts is vulnerable to attack."

"I don't want to go anywhere with Malfoy. I don't care where I end up, so long as he's no less than a thousand kilometers from me — preferably somewhere he can't Apparate out of. Like a prison cell." Ginny crossed her arms and leaned back, daring Blaise to respond.

She took the challenge. "Draco," she stressed his first name, giving Ginny a condescending glare, "is a fine gentleman. A baron, who made some bad choices as a youth, but — and I'll quote him on this — he met an angel in the midst of destruction,' and this angel, I assume he means you, has haunted most of his thoughts for the past two years. You're turning him into a ghost as he pines away over you."

Ginny scowled. "That's riddiculous. He doesn't even know who I am. How's he supposed to fall madly in love with me if he doesn't know I'm anything other than a slightly-attractive face?"

Blaise dodged the question swiftly. "You're an echo of your brother, you know. All fire on the surface, and a hopeless romantic underneath. And George... he's like a phantom face. Every time I look at the pictures your brother left to me, I see two faces staring back. It hurts to know that one remains alive while the other is gone — I hurt every time I long to show up on your doorstep and tell your mother the truth about your brother."

"What was the truth?" Ginny murmured, keeping her question filed away.

"Your brother wanted nothing more than to see the end of the war. His work was everything. He was amazing — after all, he was a spy for almost as long as Draco has been one, without a bit of suspicion." Blaise sighed. "I loved him. Seems an odd match, doesn't it? A Slytherin and a Gryffindor, a noble and a commoner. Draco compared the both of us to Romeo and Juliet once. And now it's true. He's gone and left me with a gift of death."

Ginny shook her head at the last, frowning. "A gift of death? That doesn't make sense."

"A gift of death, it makes perfect sense. As soon as the Dark Lord finds out that I was involved with a spy, my life is worthless. That's why I must go into hiding with you and Draco." Blaise glanced down at her elegant hands, avoiding Ginny's eyes just long enough to alert her to the seriousness of her next pronouncement. "If I don't leave soon, the truth will become evident to Voldemort. You see, the next Duke Zabini of Gloucester will be of Weasley blood."

Ginny fell back on her traditional response, and gaped openly in astonishment.

A/N: Hehe. Now that my evilness has been appeased, it's time for the role of honour, with notes for all!

Krissy (thanks, that's my favourite bit of the chapter! I was quite proud of those thoughts!), smile7499 (Gosh, I'm honoured! ::grin:: More Harry is coming — much more.), sunnycouger (looks like it'll be 24 now. ::faxes a few extra tissues::), S.Maldiva (the real twists are yet to come. Actually, the first was right here!), lupe silverwing (there will be some not-so-sad chapters, but trust me — the angst will be flowing like water by the end), Princess Evil (::snicker:: thanks), Amy G (your note's at the top!), Evil*Fairy (look for updates every 4-6 days. I'm going back to school tomorrow morning, so postings might be sporadic... although, I just finished the draft of chapter 20, so I think I'm buffered ahead enough!), Karna (note to those confused about glamour — it would be considered Dark Magic, and regulated thus, if more people could do it, since the reason for glamour is to decieve the sight of those around you. And I can send you funny AIMs whenever I want to, freshie ;)

Right! Next time: the chapter which prompted my beta to call me the Slytherin Queen of Angst! Harry and Hermione have a go.


	14. Walk Alone in Fear

A/N: And here we are, the actual chapter! As I've just finished the draft of 23, I decided to toss this one out early. Role of honour at the bottom, along with the april fool's bit ;) 

Chapter Thirteen — Walk Alone in Fear

"Why is the path unclear

When we know home is near?

Understand we'll go hand in hand

But we'll walk alone in fear,

Tell me, where do we go from here?"

-Buffy Cast, "Where Do We Go from Here?"

Tuesday, November 4, 2003

After her classes were over for the day, Hermione retired to her private rooms with a stack of papers to grade. She tossed them aside as she entered, walking over to where Harry had passed out on the couch after lunch with his infant son snuggled in his arms. She smiled at the picture-perfect moment, watching briefly before scooping the boy into her arms . He awoke and cried softly for a moment before calming.

"Rach?" Harry mumbled, words slurred with sleep. He reached out and snagged his fingers on a pocket in Hermione's robe, almost reflexively. "James is awake."

"It's Hermione, Harry. You're at Hogwarts." She sighed, disentangling his fingers from her robe, and kneeled next to the couch. James squealed happily, grabbing at a lock of Hermione's hair.

He opened his eyes and met Hermione's gaze mournfully, emerald green sparks of pain, and rolled to put his back to her. "I'm sorry. Rachel used to wake me up and take me to bed when I fell asleep playing with James."

Hermione stood and carried the infant over to a counter along the wall and set him down. "Has James eaten? When was the last time you changed his nappies?"

"A while," Harry admitted. "He doesn't cry very often, unless he's really hungry. Rachel's mum said he was the best behaved child of all her grandchildren."

"Tell me about Rachel, Harry? Tell me what happened when you left?" Hermione busied herself with summoning a dishtowel and transfiguring it into a diaper, giving her friend time to compose himself. 

She heard her couch creak as Harry presumably sat up. "What you're really asking is why I left, correct?" Though Hermione didn't answer, her reply was obvious enough, as she conjured a bottle of milk silently for the baby. "I knew that if I were to face Voldemort again, after the battle the night we graduated, I would die. I didn't have the magic to destroy him. I didn't have the heart left to face him."

"What did you see, down there, Harry?" The nappies changed and the milk warmed to her satisfaction, Hermione scooped James back into her arms and carried the baby, happily sucking at his breakfast, back to his father.

Harry took his son and nestled him on his lap before continuing. His eyes remained fixed on the child's face as he continued. "Sirius Black threw himself between me and Voldemort's Killing Curse. He was looking at me. When it hit, he kept looking, until he was gone and hit the ground. And in all that time... even with all the work we tried to do... he was never cleared. My godfather went to the grave an escaped convict. And Voldemort stood there, and he laughed. He knew that I'd failed."

"You ran away... because of Sirius?" Hermione sighed and shook her head. "I know that it hurt you, Harry, but we needed you, and you weren't there."

"Well, London's hardly gone to pot, has it? You've got on well enough without me. All the time I was here, all I caused was death and hurt and suffering. You've done damned fine without me!" The anger in his voice was displaced by the single tear which rolled down his cheek.

Hermione tapped her wand on her knee in aggitation. "Harry, you ran away. You were right, when you spoke to Ron yesterday. Nothing is the same, and nothing will ever be the same again. Did you know Ron left me to go chasing you across America? I don't blame you for hurting, after you lost Sirius, but leaving me and Ron and Ginny and all of the rest of us to fend for ourselves? Gods, Harry, did you think Voldemort would just disappear?"

"Albus was my Secret Keeper! New York City was his idea! His grandson did the change of names! He knew that I was no help to the Light if I could barely function on my own!" James started wailing at the raised voices, and Harry broke off to whisper to his son, cradling the boy in his arms.

"Then it was Albus who failed us. He probably had a reason for what he did, but we'll never know now, will we? Percy marched into Fudge's office one week ago today and shot both the Minister and Dumbledore with a gun." Harry turned, staring at her in shock. She continued, tapping the wand on her knee faster. "And killed Fred, who was outside for some reason. And killed himself. Do you think leaving Britain let you escape being the Boy Who Lived?" Hermione reached over and lifted the crying baby from Harry's arms, standing and rocking him as she walked around the room. 

Harry glared and shot to his feet. "Damnit, Hermione, I'm not anything special! I'm just a man who got lucky, because his mother sacrificed her life for him. It wasn't me, I'm not some Messiah come to save the wizarding world. That's just a fairy tale."

"Well, guess what, Harry?" Hermione shifted James to her shoulder, rocking him slowly. "The moment Voldemort gave you that scar, you became something special. The moment he bled you in the ritual to create a new body for himself, you became something more than special — he has your blood, Harry. You're connected, as terrible as it is to think about it. You are the weapon that can kill him, because your blood flows through his veins. Ancient magic, just as ancient as the magic your mother used to save your life and make you the Boy Who Lived. Sorry, Harry... whether you want it thrust upon you or not, you ARE the last hope we have."

"I can barely use magic anymore," he hissed, eyes slits of green ice in his glare. "I'm practically a squib, and you're going to send me off to face Voldemort?"

"No, Harry," Hermione murmured, rubbing James' back as she rocked the child in her arms. "First, you're going to wake up and remember who you are. You're a Gryffindor, and it's time to stop bloody running. Then, Minerva and I will help you recover from your years without magic. Finally, after a few months of work, you're going to go out to face Voldemort with all the Aurors, all the teachers of Hogwarts, and dozens of volunteers backing the Boy Who Lived in all his glory. And then, you're going to win."

Harry turned sharply to face her. "You think it's that fucking easy? Just walk out, point my wand at the most powerful Dark Wizard in the world, shoot off a spell, and he's dead? What do you think I am, the Second Coming of Christ!? Bloody hell, Hermione, what you're asking -"

"Is no more than Albus would've asked." Hermione turned and walked purposefully toward the door to her bedroom. "Until you've stopped being a coward and started being a Gryffindor, I'll be grading papers and watching over your son." She pushed the door open and moved through, shutting it softly to keep James from being startled.

Hermione perched on the edge of her bed in silence, until the door to her rooms opened and shut. She shifted James in her arms again, ruffling his soft hair with a smile. "Do you think I got through to him, little one?"

Harry stormed down the halls, not noticing when he sent a small Hufflepuff girl scuttling out of his way in terror. Despite years of separation, his feet knew the stone corridors better than his memory ever could. One hallway flowed into another as he fumed, Muggle shoes having a mind of their own. And then... he was there, standing in front of a familiar door. 

He was transported instantly back in time, in his mind's eye, to an eleven-year-old boy, creeping down the halls to view his prize. Harry pushed open the door — miraculously unlocked — and stepped inside the chamber which had once held the Mirror of Erised. Though empty, save for a thick coating of dust, Harry saw the little boy hurry forward and sit in front of the mirror, eagerly staring into his reflection to see his mother and father staring back. As if in a trance, Harry traced the steps of his youth and knelt down, sending clouds of dust into the air and all over his clothing. He closed his eyes, picturing again the smiling faces of his parents, and their parents, and their families all smiling back, just as they had half a lifetime ago.

Harry knew what he would see now, were he to look into the depth of the mirror again. Once, he had been able to drag himself away from the loving smiles of his relatives. Now, he knew one glimpse into the mirror, into the smiling face of his wife, would prove his undoing. Unlike the boy he'd once been, he wouldn't be able to look away.

He knelt and let the tears run freely down his face. Alone, he grieved.

***

A/N: Right. And here follows the joke... keep scrolling for notes/role of honour/teaser....

GOD PLAYS APRIL FOOL'S JOKE ON COLLEGE STUDENTS

by S.Walton, staff reporter

****

Newton, IA - Forecasts for today in this small Iowa town called for 63 degrees and windy, but residents today went off to work and school to find themselves in the midst of a blizzard. While students in springtime attire trudged through puddles and growing mounds of snow, God giggled and pointed. "That'll teach them to mouth off at me!" the deity was reported to have said. 

God, the deity of choice for three Western religions, claims to be sick of people cursing Him for the weather. After a relatively calm winter season, He decided to have the last laugh and "blast those little buggers good."

And blast he did. While the temperature hovers around 30 degrees fahrenheit, news reports still forcast a high temperature of 63 for the region. Students at Grinnell College in nearby Grinnell, IA are not amused. "I got up and didn't wear a coat to class," one student reported.

"I'm wearing sandals," another complained. "Now my feet are wet."

It seems that once again, the creator of the platypus and agent behind the Flood has gotten the last laugh.

A/N: Alrighty! I AM the Queen of Angst! Bow down! (::chuckle:: well, that's what me beta says.) Next chapter: more Harry, and Ginny talks to Blaise about baby names. 

Role of honour: Princess Tangawine (oooh, thankee :) I'm honoured!), Princess Evil (Me evil? ::grin:: I'm a Slytherin, of course I'm evil! It comes with the job! And, for your information, I am working on an original. Don't look for it for a while, though! As in — maybe I'll be done by the time I'm 40 :P), lupe silverwing (don't die! I need more review! ::angelic grin::), Breea (Glad you like it! And the rose will be back!), S.Maldiva (Mmm, subservient Draco... couldn't help myself...), bosch (Her father was a Zabini who married the last heir of the line, thus tranfering the duchy to him. Why? Umm... because I just made it up. Yeah, I had problems with the name, too, but Blaise as a Duchess was just so perfect that I couldn't help myself... forgive me? ::grin::), smile7499(Blaise is never named as male or female in the books. I know people who know guys with the name and others who know girls with the name. My version of Blaise is actually a hat tip to both Riley's "Pawn to Queen" and Cassie Claire's "Draco Dormiens" trilogy. I fell in love with the Blaise character in both — excellent fics, I highly recommend them), Hawk (Yup. Slythie and Gryffie. I'll bet it's happened before! We're not so different as we could wish!), and the unsigned one (My feet were wet for hours. Damned wool socks.)

Thanks for the reviews! I love ya all, and adore reading what you think! Cheerio!


	15. Something to Sing About

A/N: Mmm, early updates. Gotta love em. Two of my classes were cancelled this week, so extra homework time means more time to write... Just finished drafts of 25-26 today, and a rewrite of 24! The bombshell will be ready to post when time comes — and a warning far in advance... I scare myself sometimes. I really do. (Beta MrSmiley4 on Sunday ch 24: "Geh! That's Evil, even for you!") And with that hint of future evilness...

Chapter Fourteen — Something to Sing About

"Life's not a song, life isn't bliss

Life is just this: It's living.

You'll get along, the pain that you feel

You only can heal by living."

-Buffy Cast, "Life's a Show"

Wednesday, November 5, 2003

Breakfast at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had become a muted affair in the week and a day since the murder of Albus Dumbledore. Students rushed their meals, eager to get away from the somber silence prevalent at the high table. Minerva McGonagall seldom made an appearance at the Great Hall until lunch was served, unless the newspapers reported an attack.

And it was with that knowledge that Hermione and George sat down for breakfast on Wednesday morning; little James safely under the care of Madame Pomfrey for the school day. Hermione picked at her eggs, face drawn in a frown. "Do you think I did the wrong thing, yelling at him like that?"

He pounded his fist on the table, startling the other teachers and catching the attention of most of the students remaining in the Hall. "I think he could use another punch to his jaw. The world doesn't bloody revolve around him, scar faced or not." George stabbed viciously at a sausage. "He's not even been up to see Mum. She practically adopted him summer before you all graduated, and he won't even stop into the infirmary to see Mum and check in on Dad. He just disappeared, and thinks he can show up and be right back where he -"

"George!" Hermione hissed, narrowing her eyes and grabbing his wrist to keep the scene from escalating. "I should've known better than to bring him up around you! He knows it's not the same, just as much as the rest of us do — except maybe Ron."

"What's the little git doing now?" George avoided the gaze of a scowling Severus Snape and set his free hand on top of Hermione's. "Did he have the gall to ask you back, after what he pulled when he left?"

Hermione gave a snort and pulled away, returning to her half-eaten food. "The night he got back to Britain, he showed up where I was napping and started talking about things being the way they used to be, since Harry's back now. He's the one you should be punching, not Harry."

"Potter could use a few rounds to kick some sense back into him."

"Ron could use a stiff punch to the jaw to knock some reality back into him," Hermione countered. "Albus was Harry's Secret Keeper. He knew Harry had gone to recover from whatever happened between You-Know-Who and Harry the night I graduated... I don't think it was Harry just running away, Albus had to have a reason..."

"There was certainly a reason," Minerva McGonagall cut in, sending Hermione and George jumping to their feet ins surprise. The Headmistress looked tired and much older than her years, with dark circles marring the skin beneath her eyes.

Severus Snape rose to his feet as well, rounding the table quickly to keep the conversation quiet and away from the students. "Minerva, I didn't see you come in... has there been another attack?"

She shook her head, gesturing for everyone to sit once more. No one complied, but she continued on anyways. "No attack, Severus. Merely a few things that need some discussion. I've taken the liberty of cancelling classes for the morning to allow for a meeting."

"You cancelled classes?" George stared in shock. "The last time classes were cancelled -"

"-Was the day You-Know-Who attacked the school, yes, I know. Things are just as dire today as they were five years ago. We won't speak of it here, however. As much as I'd love to trust all of the students, we know well enough who some of their parents are." Minerva sighed deeply, giving a glance over to the Slytherin table. "Has anyone seen Mr. Potter?"

As if on cue, the door of the Great Hall were flung wide open as Harry Potter entered. His trendy wire-rim glasses had been traded for a pair with thick rims and his hair was tidied the best it could be, though many pieces stuck out at odd angles. He'd borrowed someone's black robe, as the sleeves were too short for the tall man, and tossed carelessly around his neck was the red and gold Gryffindor scarf he'd worn for seven long years of school.

Whispers erupted almost immediately as he strode confidently to the high table. Though the streaks of grey were still overly evident, the man who stood before them could be no one but the famous Boy Who Lived. Harry met Hermione's eyes for just a moment, acknowledging her part in his remaking, before climbing the stairs to the teacher's table and joining the group of professors standing next to it. "I can't do a lick of magic," he murmured to Minerva, Severus, George, and Hermione, "but if the part is mine, I'll play it."

Minerva nodded and smiled — the first Hermione had seen since Albus' death. Ignoring glares from Snape and George, she reached up to pat Harry's shoulder affectionately. "Well, then... will you join us, Mr. Potter? We have things to speak of and to plan." With his nod of affirmation, she turned and led the small group from the Great Hall, the eyes of every student present following in the wake of the Boy Who Lived.

"Blaise?" Ginny spun slowly in place, lost in the midst of the immense grandness of the Zabini manor. She'd never owned a house-elf, and thus had no idea how to call one for help. The halls all looked the same to her — plush green carpeting and white walls, lined with pictures of Zabinis past smiling and waving as she passed. 

She finally heard muted voices coming from down the hall and hurried to find her savior. "Draco, she doesn't want to stay here." Ginny slowed to listen in as she caught Blaise's voice. "Her family probably thinks she's dead."

"Hogwarts isn't safe! Half the wards are down, they're no longer connected by floo, I'm positive Voldemort has followers in the forest and infiltrating the Aurors on guard... it's no secret that Voldemort sees Hogwarts as a symbol of the Light. Hell, I tried to help take it for him, five years back!" In her mind's eye, Ginny could see Malfoy pacing across the room, his eternal sneer glued to his face.

"You want her to stay here, then?" Blaise snorted and slammed something on a table. "Davie, Greg and Vince were planning to stop in tomorrow. I'm sure one of them suspects something. They're not as dumb as you seem to think they are, you know."

"Tomorrow? Damnit. I was hoping she could be hidden here until after this weekend... I'm going to have to go back to the Manor tomorrow, or my position will be completely compromised, if it isn't already... I've got to find a way to get her to Hogwarts." She heard footsteps going the other way, and fading off.

Ginny stood back for a moment, waiting to hear any other conversation, but it seemed as if Malfoy had been the only one in the room with Blaise. After a bit of silence, she crept forward and peeked around the door. Blaise was standing before a massive bow window, her back to Ginny. "Blaise?" Ginny murmured, just loud enough to get her attention without startling her.

Blaise turned to face Ginny, hand raised to wipe silent tears from her face. It was the first time Ginny had seen any emotion other than elegant generousity from the other woman. "Hello there, Ginny," she whispered, sniffling softly.

Crossing the room, Ginny set a hand on Blaise's shoulder hesitantly. It wasn't as if the two were friends, or had even paid more than a moment's attention to each other before yesterday — but they did have two things in common. "Fred or Draco?"

"Fred," Blaise managed to croak before dissolving into a bout of sobs that shook her entire frame. Ginny gave up any sense of formality and hugged the other woman, letting her cry on her shoulder. "We were going to get out of Britain," she gasped out between sobs. "Canada! Or New York! Anywhere but here! He'd gone to ask Dumbledore to get us out!"

Yet another piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place. "He knew about the baby, then?" Ginny whispered, brushing several tear-wetted strands of red hair back from Blaise's face.

"Four months along," Blaise whispered. "If it's a boy, Fred wanted to name him Galahad — he though it would be so funny, to make fun of Percy, and I was so angry -" Blaise choked on another bout of tears and buried her face in the fabric of Ginny's robe.

"Damn Percy," Ginny muttered back. "If only he hadn't... Gods, we don't have time to play what if. I have to go find my parents. I promise I won't tell them about you and Fred — I'll let you do that yourself when you get pulled out. It'll be soon, I'll make sure it is."

Blaise sniffled again, pulling away from Ginny to wipe her tear-stained face with the back of her hand. "I miss him, Ginny."

"I miss him too, Blaise." Ginny let herself get pulled back into another hug.

A/N: Next time: Dumbledore's legacy and an escape to Hogwarts.

Role of Honour: Princess Tangawire (well thanks! I'm hoping she stays in character, though that character has grown and changed quite a bit since her time at Hogwarts), Sophie W. (I am so evil! ::pouts:: Well, is this update soon enough?), sonja (Thankee kindly!), S.Maldiva (Hmm... sorry, luv, but Harry's got a ways to go. He just lost his wife and his entire life, was uprooted from his home, and found himself in mortil peril. Poor baby.) 


	16. A Sanctuary, Safe and Strong

A/N: Hello, people! The weekend's over — but here's a Monday treat to get you through it. Well, me too. God, I hate Mondays. ::grumble:: This is all plot, and little fluff. Well, gotta get through that whole plot thing on the way to more blood and death, after all... ::grin::

Chapter Fifteen — A Sanctuary, Safe and Strong 

"And every time I've held a rose

It seems I only felt the thorns

And so it goes, and so it goes 

And so will you soon I suppose."

-Billy Joel, "And So It Goes"

Wednesday, November 5, 2003

The teachers of Hogwarts trooped down the hall, following Minerva to the mysterious meeting. Oddly enough, George and Snape walked side by side behind McGonagall, though the reason for the strange pair was Hermione and Harry, walking together behind them. The confidant gleam of earlier in Harry's eyes had abated somewhat, but it was clear something had changed since the previous day. "I'm sure this wasn't all my doing. Where did you get your scarf from?" she murmured.

"Mrs. Weasley. Last night, I wandered for a while... I don't want to be Harry Potter, but it's who I am. And when I walked into the infirmary, Mrs. Weasley jumped up and ran over and hugged me. Me. Even after I left like I did, without telling anyone I was going... even after Ron left home to follow me, the stupid git... she hugged me and she told me she'd missed me." He smiled slightly. "And then she told me I'd better expect to be taking out the trash at the Burrow for the next ten years, after all the worry I put her through."

Hermione laughed softly, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders as they had dozens of times during school. Harry responded in kind, grinning. "So Molly brought your scarf? And who did those glasses for you — I know you can't pull more than a Wingardium Leviosa with the lack of practice you've had since you left."

"Mrs. Weasley's been wearing the scarf since I left. She did the glasses, too. The entrance was her idea as well... though with the number of Slytherins at breakfast, I've no doubt the Dark Lord will know where I am within days." Harry took off his glasses and squinted at them. "These really are hideous. I can't believe I wore them for twelve years."

"Where else would you be than Hogwarts?" Hermione prodded, ignoring his attempt to change the subject. "With or without Albus, it's still the safest place on the island."

Any response Harry might've had was cut off as the group rounded the corner into a conference room near the Headmistress' office. Arthur, Molly, Ron, and surprisingly enough, Remus Lupin were all there waiting, along with Madame Pomfrey cuddling the sleeping James Potter. She rose to hand the child over to Harry before returning to her seat, as the rest of the group chose them as well. Anxious to be near the baby, Hermione found herself seated between Harry and George — hopefully she'd not have to spend the meeting doing police duty — and across from Ron, who smiled shyly at her. When Hermione noticed Ron's reaction, it was all she could do to keep herself from hiding her face in her hands and screaming. George obviously noticed as well, as he reached over to pat her shoulder encouragingly. Hermione smiled back her thanks.

"I received some disturbing news this morning," Minerva began, prompting frightened glances around the table. Hermione looked from face to face, taking stock of all those present. Madame Hooch was there, and Professor Sinistra, whom Hermione seldom saw out of the Astronomy tower. On second thought, all the surviving professors from Hermione's own time as a student were gathered in the room, along with the surviving Weasleys who were able to attend. Minerva continued, oblivious to Hermione's musings. "When Albus died, a list of agents of the Order came into my possession. I've been contacting each one in turn, to let everyone know I've taken over his role of espionage as well, but there is one man I cannot find. Draco Malfoy is our highest placed spy within Voldemort's infrastructure, and he's been missing since noon on Monday. Officially, he's supposed to be in business meetings in Italy, but his contact reported that he never arrived."

Hermione glanced over to check on Harry's response to the news — not surprisingly, he was gaping in shock. "Malfoy?" he spoke up, prompting attention from all those assembled. "But... when I left, he was a slimy git... at graduation, he certainly wasn't on our side -"

"Men change, Mr. Potter," Snape shot in, less than kindly. The two locked gazes, the chill almost tangible in the air.

"Draco Malfoy has been working for the Light since October of 2001, Harry," McGonagall shot in, breaking the frozen silence. "At this moment, he could be dead, or our entire spy network could be compromised. Either way, we seem to have lost our most valuable spy. Since Per-" Minerva stopped suddenly, glancing at Arthur and Molly before starting her sentence again. "Since the murders last Tuesday, there have been an enormous number of disappearances. Virginia Weasley is the most known to all of you, since the dark-haired man swept her away from the mob at the Ministry headquarters on Monday afternoon, but almost a dozen others have vanished. Parvati Patil, the woman acting as secretary to Minister Fudge, and the only one in the outer office at the time of the murders disappeared sometime between Monday after work and Tuesday morning, when she was to arrive for a briefing. Lisa Turpin, the MLES photographer who attended to the bodies didn't appear at work yesterday morning either. Justin Finch-Fletchley never returned home last Thursday, and Susan Bones left to meet her fiancee for dinner on Saturday night, but never arrived. Terry Boot, Sally-Anne Perks, Morag MacDougal, Ernie MacMillan..."

"Sweet Jesus," Harry blurted out, half climbing to his feet, his horrified expression echoed by Ron and Hermione. "Professor, they're all from my class, except Ginny. They were all in the battle at graduation."

Minerva nodded slowly. "Draco Malfoy is the only Slytherin on the list, and Virginia Weasley is the only member of a class other than '98."

"He took half of them before I'd even been found... didn't he? It took from Tuesday to Sunday evening to locate me, after Professor Dumbledore died. They can't be connected to me, right?" Hermione gently lifted James from his father's arms. Harry hardly seemed to notice, his concentration focused entirely on McGonagall's next words.

"Albus was your Secret Keeper, Harry..." Several of the professors glanced at each other in shock, obviously not let into the news until then. "Normally, a replacement would've been found within hours after the death of the first Keeper, but the magic of the deceased wears off within a day or two. The first of your classmates to disappear was Justin, on Thursday. You-Know-Who was most likely very aware of your location by the time Justin was taken."

Harry sunk slowly into his seat. "Why didn't he attack, then? Why take my classmates? I hardly knew half of them!"

"Death Eaters usually attack on Sundays," Ron offered softly. "I'd forgotten how long you were gone. The first Bloody Sunday was the week after you left."

His face was easily as pale as marble, face buried in his hands in silent grief. "Harry, we don't know if they're dead," Mrs. Weasley offered, though she looked near to tears herself. 

"Most likely, he's making a point — he's trying to tell us that Harry's disappearing act wasn't an escape," Hermione murmured. A few of those present nodded in agreement. "After all," she continued, "why take only the class of '98, and only those he wasn't particularly close to, except to make a point — however morbid that may be."

"Until any bodies are found, they're believed to be alive." Minerva sent a stern glance at Harry, whose face spoke otherwise. "It's obvious the kidnappings are connected to your return, but whether they'll be used as hostages or warnings is yet to be seen. As things stand now, I've warned the rest of the non-Slytherin members of the class, and they'll be either taking Secret Keepers or returning to Hogwarts to help with the defense of the castle."

"Defense of the castle?" Madame Hooch put in. "Is there intelligence suggesting we should expect an attack?"

Snape gave a snort of indignation, which was cut off by another stern glare from McGonagall. The Headmistress continued. "There's nothing explicitly stating it, no... however, Harry is here. That, and the castle is a symbol of strength and victory to the British Wizarding community. Since the Founding, lore has it that no army has taken the castle. If You-Know-Who takes it, no matter the price, he thinks he's won the war."

"As if that would be true," Arthur Weasley put in, the scowl on his face seeming out of place on the normally cheerful man. "He must know that — otherwise, why bother to manuever two different candidates for Minister of Magic to his side? And for all we know, the third could be working for him as well!"

"Things can't be as grim as you're saying they are, Minerva," Snape quipped, face plastered in a superior sneer. "If I know Albus, he had dozens of back-up plans written up and locked away for every concieveable action. There must be something for this outcome."

McGonagall nodded shortly, summoning a shallow stone basin, engraved with runes, from the back of the room. "Indeed he was ready for the moment of his death. He left a long list of instructions for me. Most disturbing was the number of wards around the castle that were connected to his lifeforce. I've managed to replace a good number of them, but I'll be asking for a great deal of help over the next few days. The most important, however, is this pensieve. He left specific instructions as to whom would be watching it — we are missing only three from that list; Draco Malfoy, Virginia Weasley, and Frederick Weasley."

"How are we all going to see it?" Harry whispered to Hermione, trying not to detract too much attention from McGonagall.

"Special spell," Hermione murmured back, rocking James slowly to keep him from fussing.

Minerva pointed her wand at the pensieve sitting on the desk. "Those gathered here were essential in the last war or in the years since You-Know-Who's return. _Expromere_," she finished, sending a shower of sparks at the stone basin.

The ghostly figure of Albus Dumbledore appeared in a swirling mist from the liquid-filled bowl. He smiled cheerfully and looked about. The figure was recorded, of course, and didn't notice Poppy Pomfrey bursting into tears or Minerva McGonagall hiding her face in her hands in anguish. "Hello, there!" he called out, beaming. "If you're using this pensieve, I'm no doubt dead and buried — but have no fear, I'd never leave without passing on a few things."

"Get on with it," Snape was heard to mutter, causing glares to be shot at him from several quarters. He glowered and sunk into his chair.

The shade continued, oblivious. "Now, then — first things first! Get an owl, and get Harry Potter back from wherever he's hiding out over the pond, if he's not back already. As I was his Secret Keeper, the boy could be in grave danger." Minerva looked incredibly guilty, shooting an apologetic glance over at Harry. "He's the key to the fall of Voldemort, just as he was the last time around. Harry Potter's blood flows in the veins of this incarnation of the Dark Lord, tying the lives of the two together. As Voldemort seeks to kill Harry, only Harry can possibly kill the Dark Lord."

The faces of everyone present turned to regard Harry. For his part, the Boy Who Lived sunk into his chair. "Bloody hell."

"To this effect, a spell has finally been created to counter the Killing Curse using Light magic. Harry Potter intoning _aedifico cavum_ at the same moment Lord Voldemort casts the Avada Kedavra will create a vortex of magic, one from which only the caster can escape. Voldemort will be trapped within the vortex and stripped of all ability to do magic simultaneously. While the effects of this spell have obviously not been tested, I'm positive that the combination of these stimuli will be the end of our Dark Lord troubles for quite some time!" Hermione couldn't help but gape at the cheerful face of the Headmaster's recording. She wondered how long the answers had been held in the depths of the pensieve; how long ago Dumbledore's spell could've rid the world of Voldemort's evil. The recording kept smiling broadly, if a little more somberly than moments before. "Remember the incantation, and remember that Harry must be the one to cast it — I'm not sure if it will work effectively for anyone other than Voldemort's blood brother. I wish I could be there to see its use, but I have confidence in all of you. Good luck!" And the image faded.

Silence reigned for a long beat before protests of confusion and anger burst from around the table. Minerva stood, pushing the pensieve out of the way, and called for attention. "Listen to me! I don't know how long the spell's been ready! I don't know why Albus wasn't ready to use it before now, but I'm sure there was a reason!"

"But we have it now!" George exclaimed, pushing to his feet to address Harry over the top of Hermione's head. "You've got your wand, Potter! We can lure You-Know-Who to wherever, you cast the spell, and Poof! We're free!"

There was another roar of discussion, this one tinged with excitement. Hermione shook her head, rocking James to comfort him. They didn't know. They didn't realize.

Harry's response brought silence. "I can't cast the spell."

"What?" George broke it, face growing red in fury. "What do you mean, you can't cast it? Say the bloody words and finish the damned war!"

"You don't understand, George... I want to cast it, but I can't." He sighed and stared down at his hands. "I haven't used magic in four years. I can't cast a spell of that power — in fact, I can't gather the power to summon my glasses to me in the morning."

Several hours later, in a back alley of Hogsmeade, Draco and Ginny crouched, waiting for darkness to descend. Her hair once again dulled to a conservative brown, not even Madame Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks had recognized Ginny — and Draco's similar disguise easily hid his identity. "Malfoy, are you going to tell me the specifics of the plan yet? It's only a few minutes until sundown, and I'm sick of waiting on you."

"We'll have to Apparate right to the edge of the field and make a run for it... there are Death Eaters in the forest. I'd just glamour myself invisible, like I usually do to make my reports, but there's not enough veela blood in me to cast a glamour as powerful as that on you," he muttered with a frown. 

"So go in with invisibility. I'll make a run for it, while you make sure to slip inside and grab Madame Pomfrey, in case I'm hurt." Ginny shifted away from Draco slightly, unnerved by the expression of caring on his face.

Malfoy shook his head forcefully, his gaze intense. "There's no way I'm letting you run alone. It'll be five Death Eaters chasing you within moments of Apparating. That's suicide."

"How does anyone make it to the school if so many Death Eaters are against them?" Ginny retorted with a snort of indignation borrowed from Blaise. "I don't look like a Weasley at the moment, I could walk right past them!"

"Ahh, but they're specifically watching for you, on Voldemort's orders," he countered. "There were Death Eaters egging on the mob. They WANTED a chance to catch you — and they'll stop you to figure out who you are before you can get halfway across the Quidditch field, unless you make a run."

"Fine! I'll run, and you'll run under your glamour thing!" Ginny grumbled, crossing her arms.

Draco sighed in resignation. "Fine. I'll get Madame Pomfrey the moment I enter the building, alright? I'm just worried about you."

Ginny climbed to her feet ackwardly, taking a step away from Malfoy. "Right, worried about the Mudblood-lover. Are you ready to do this? My mum is probably sick with fright."

She heard Draco make a few choice curses as he stood, but he brushed off his robe and readied himself with a nod. "I'll count to three. On three, Apparate to the cedar at the edge of the Quidditch field. That's the closest Apparation point to the castle."

"I know, Malfoy. I went to school there too," Ginny replied with a glare.

Draco visibly winced at the use of Malfoy, but began the countdown anyways. "One," he muttered, tapping his wand to the side of his head. He slowly faded from sight, leaving just an outline, and then nothing. "Two." The disembodied voice came from somewhere closer to Ginny, but she ignored it and closed her eyes to prepare.

"Three." 

She Apparated, turning immediately to start dashing for her goal. The back doors near the Quidditch pitch were easily within reach, though she heard a shout of alarm less than a minute after appearing. Ginny changed her straight run to a zig-zagging pattern as the first curse was hurled at her from behind. The door, her only goal. Every ounce of strength thrown into making the distance.

Ginny's hand clamped onto the door long before the Death Eaters would've had a chance to catch up with her. Turning the corner, she collapsed against the wall inside the protection of Hogwarts and sunk to the ground panting for air. Finally, she'd come to her sanctuary.

A/N: Next time: Blaise makes a mistake. A rather big one.

Role of Honour: Princess Tangawine (::laughs:: babble if you want! People certainly do change — without change, what fun would life be?), Kaylynn Rose Potter (Cute name, I do like it), S.Maldiva (Oooh, I love writing female bonding scenes. Especially with Blaise. I really have grown attatched to her), Breea (Bloody brilliant? Really? ::sniff:: I'm honoured!), bosch (Frankly, the whole duchess/baron thing came from a class discussion of a book on Colonial America. I was thinking about the plot bunny I was playing with (at that point, only the prologue had been written) and poof! Malfoy became a baron and Zabini a duchess), smile 7499 (I love angry george. He has so much promise. Maybe there should be a "Sunday" drinking game... every time George punches someone, take a drink!) 


	17. River in Flames, Cities on Fire

A/N: Good evening, mis amigos! For your reading pleasure, the angst that is called "Sunday, Bloody Sunday," chapter 16!

Disclaimer: I've not done one of these for a bit. So... it's not mine. Well, Jesse is, but he was hardly important. Oh, and Rachel. She's just dead.

Chapter Sixteen — River in Flames, Cities on Fire

"Now a glorious war draws to a close

The yellow winds blow, and I have to know

Oh, Industry, whatever will become of me?

Soon the cruel rains will start

Is it true we must part company?"

-Bette Midler, "Oh, Industry"

Thursday, November 6, 2003

Blaise fixed her hair one last time, flicking her wand at a stray curl of red before standing back to examine her reflection in the mirror. "Lovely, dear, simply lovely!" the mirror proclaimed. Blaise wasn't sure if she agreed. Her dress was horribly out of date — though the retro 1450's styles did wonders to cover her growing shape, the style had gone out of fashion once again in the spring. Everything possible had been done to minimize the appearance of her rounded middle, and though Greg Goyle and Vince Crabbe weren't known for their ability to see the obvious, Davie Avery was much more observant. Davie was the true threat.

"Men here to see miss," a house-elf murmured, careful to stay out of sight and out of the way.

"I'll receive them in the parlour, Minny," Blaise responded, smoothing down her gown once more. It seemed that the time had come to guard all knowledge.

She put on her most gracious smile as she swept in, which widened even more as she realized that David Avery was not in attendance. "Greg! Vince! How lovely to see you both, outside of the meetings."

Vincent Crabbe grunted loudly and grinned vapidly, which was more of a response than one normally received from the rather dull man. Gregory Goyle, however, was his normal, increasingly-charming self. "Blaise," he murmured, taking her hand and planting a gallant kiss on the back, "or should I call you Duchess Zabini?"

You should, she longed to reply, but gracefully pulled her hand from his grip to wave off the comment instead. "I think as much of the title as Draco does of his, luv. I seldom use it, but for being in the presence of the Dark Lord. I do believe he appreciates it much more than I."

"Of course," Greg went on, smoothly. "I was grieved to hear of your father's death in the raid two months ago, and wanted to come to give you my regards myself."

Blaise dutifully shifted her face from beaming hostess to grieving daughter, silently amazed at how easy the transition had become for her. "Please, go on and sit, both of you. There's not a need to stand on formalities with me. I'm the same Blaise Zabini who did half of your homework for you in seventh year." She slid into a chair herself, eager to shift to a position which would most easily hide her advancing pregnancy. As they both complied with her request, Crabbe practically throwing his enormous girth into a precious fifteenth century heirloom — thank all the Gods for reinforcing charms, she thought to herself — Blaise continued on. "I thank you for your sympathy, my friends. Frankly, I was wondering why you announced a visit for today. I thought visits of remembrance were long over, though I had wondered why neither of you were at the funeral or wake."

The smile on Greg's face stiffened slightly at the insult. "We were regrettably held away by the Dark Lord's business. Well, I was at least. I can't speak for my associate." Goyle turned his grin to Crabbe.

Crabbe looked at the predatory expression on his friend's face blankly. "Funeral? Oh. I, um, I was in... Russia."

It was probably the only country he knew the name of. "Oh, Russia? I wasn't aware our Lord was pursuing anything there at the present. I suppose you learn something new every day," Blaise beamed, sending a malicious smirk at Goyle. Voldemort wasn't the least bit interested in poverty-stricken Russia, with the smallest population of wizards in all of Europe and Asia.

Greg turned a pale red in suppressed anger, and promptly ignored Vince completely. "Well, it was business after all. Mustn't speak too much of it. However, I must admit that this isn't purely a social call. I'm looking for Draco, actually."

"Draco?" Blaise made sure her puzzled expression was as honest as she could make it. "Why, I haven't seen him since the Dark Lord informed us about what Fred Weasley was." The lies flowed smoothly, all of her emotions solidly walled away. "Isn't he on business in Verona?"

"I thought that myself, but I can't seem to get an owl through," Greg smiled. "I do know how much time he tends to spend with you, especially since your father's death. I was hoping he'd sent a letter or something such?"

"No, no letters," was her calm reply. Maybe this day wouldn't be nearly so bad as she'd anticipated. "Tea!" she called out, cutting Goyle off before he was able to begin his next question. A house-elf popped in and quickly served to the three present, gone in an instant. "Have you asked Mrs. Malfoy where he might be? She would probably be more aware than I would."

Vince took a break from gulping his tea in a rather barbaric manner to shrug. "She said he didn't answer her owl either. And he didn't go meet with some cousin in Rome. That's what she said, wasn't it, Greg?"

Greg's glare was enough to silence him. "Indeed." He moved his gaze back to Blaise. "He seems to have simply disappeared."

"Blaise, my dear!" a voice called from the door. 

She froze, unable to keep a bit of her dismay from her face in the shock of his arrival. Her hostess mask faultered for a mere moment before her previous smile was plastered back across her face, however. "Why Davie, I was wondering where you'd got yourself off to."

David Avery swept into the room, looking every inch the prince he wanted so desperately to be. He bowed low, taking Blaise's offered hand in a kiss twice as charming as Goyle's. He didn't stop there, however. "Aw, Blaise, I know you're a Duchess, but I've known you since you were still in nappies!" Ignoring her protests, Davie grabbed her up from the chair in a brotherly hug.

A brotherly hug which stopped short as he pushed her back to stare in shock. "Blaise, you're pregnant!" His grip on her arm was deceptively light as his other hand went to rest on her middle. "Why didn't you tell me? Who's the lucky man that finally got into your knickers?"

She gave a snort of indignation, prying her arm from his fist. "It was a secret, until you went blurting it out like that! And your language could certainly use -"

"C'mon, Blaisie, don't ignore the question! Who knocked you up?" The hand grabbed her upper arm roughly, cold blue eyes revealing the seriousness of the situation.

Blaise paled and blurted an answer — any answer. "Why, Draco, of course. Who else would it be?" Note to self, she continued to herself silently, tell Draco of this little bitty lie before he gets back home.

She heard a yelp of laughter from Goyle's direction. "Draco Malfoy? You're planning to drag him to the altar over that, right? Cause he owes me twenty Galleons if he gets married before me!"

"You let Draco knock you up while he's been moaning about that Weasley tart?" Davie shot back, sending Goyle into stunned silence. "You're trying to tell me he didn't call out her name?"

Blaise flushed brightly, trying desperately to pull back from Avery. "She — he ran into her at the Ministry, one day, and he's still fuming over the terrible things the Mudblood-lover -"

"You believe that lie?" Davie laughed, finally letting go of his vice grip on Blaise's arm. She rubbed it, glaring at him darkly, though he didn't seem to give it a second thought. "He's after your Weasley-red hair, I'd bet! He can't have the tart, but he can have a Duchess with a passing resemblance!"

"David Julius Avery -" she spat.

Davie kept laughing. "He's a Weasley-lover, no doubt about it! And I saw the two of you with Fred Weasley all the time! Don't think you can hide your friendship with the spy, Blaise. Or should I say spies? Is Draco Malfoy in with the Weasleys, after all the bad blood for generations back?"

Blaise froze, the blood draining quickly from her face. "He wouldn't dare!" she stuttered. "He's worn the Mark since the day he turned seventeen! Draco is loyal!"

"Of course Draco is loyal," a fourth voice put in. Blaise's heart sunk even further as she turned to come face to face with Narcissa Malfoy. "I'm so sorry to drop in on you like this, Blaise, but David was under the impression you would know where Draco is?"

"I don't know where he is, Narcissa." Blaise folded her hands, trying to keep her palms from sweating.

Narcissa gave her a long, searching look, her sculpted face slowly morphing to a frown. "You're pregnant. Is that why you're wearing out-of-style robes?"

Blaise panicked, openiner her mouth to respond, but Davie was faster. "She says you're to be a grandmother, Narcissa!"

The tension between the two women was nearly palpable. "Well, Blaise," Narcissa finally put in, her tone icy, "I suppose there will be a wedding to plan in the next four months?"

"We hadn't... thought that far ahead..." Blaise choked out. "When he's back from Verona, I'll have to talk to him." Oh, yes, I'll have to talk to him... and beg forgiveness...

"Well, then, you should get started on the plans. I'm just SURE he'll agree with me on his point," Narcissa sneered, mouth a thin line of disapproval. "Why don't we sit down and talk about it? I'd love a cup of tea."

Narcissa turned to the teapot, and Davie backed over to a chair, his face a smirk. Blaise sunk into her own chair, face as guarded as she could make it in her total shock. She had the terrible feeling that Draco's response to her little white lie would be a great deal worse than his mother's.

A/N: Next time — Harry despairs and Hermione and George talk.

Role of Honour: Princess Tangawine (Hold the caffeine, dear ::wink::), durendal (Thanks so much! I'm a D/G shipper m'self, but I can't stand the way some authors have a total drop of all animosity between the two. There's plenty in store for D and G, I promise ::evil grin::), S.Maldiva (::whispers:: it's a few more chapters before he figures out a way. And actually, I've got a few chapters ahead of this one already written. I write about a chapter a day, but due to the end of the semester coming up — which means 30+ pages of term papers to write — I decided to write ahead over break. While chapter 29 is in the process of being written at the moment, I probably won't actually finish it until the end of the week, or later. Silly school getting in the way of writing), Breea (::squeals:: Oooh, I'm honoured!!), Kacella (Thanks for reviewing! And just wait until my full plans are revealed... ::cackle::), smile7499 (Each song gives the chapter theme, actually. They're very carefully chosen bits — I'd suggest downloading a few of them. Then again, I'm biased, as they're all on my mp3 playlist and I love them ::wink:: And Harry's coolness will be coming... slowly...), Ankala (Thank you SO much. I'm incredibly honoured. If you're looking for more really good fanfic — the type of stuff that got me inspired — try BarbLP's "Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent", Cassandra Claire's "Draco Dormiens" and Severitus' "A Father's Sin". These are some of THE BEST fanfic I've found on the net. Severitus write beautiful angst, Barb's stories are layered and becoming epic, and Cassie Claire is just amazing! Thanks for reading!), sunnycouger (Hi! I was wondering where you'd gone off to! Harry's classmates... hmm.. ::evil grin:: not telling about that)

As always, leave a calling card or question and I'll have an answer!


	18. Frozen Smiles

A/N: My room is being invaded by ladybugs. Anyone out in fic-land know how to get rid of them? Right — the chapter. Just read.

Chapter Seventeen — Frozen Smiles

"Broken windows and empty hallways

A pale lit moon in the sky streaked with grey

Human kindness is overflowing

And I think it's gonna rain today."

-Bette Midler, "I Think It's Going to Rain Today"

Thursday, November 6, 2003

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, sore from the unfamiliar feel of a heavier style of glasses. He was near blind without them, but his feet knew the way to the infirmary better than anyone but Madame Pomfrey. He wondered idly how many times he'd slept over in the same little bed halfway down the row. Sometimes Ron or Hermione was there recovering beside him, or sometimes he was alone. However, each memory of the infirmary had another memory connected — one of pain, hurt, and the evil named Tom Riddle, or Lord Voldemort. 

Thunder crashed from somewhere outside and Harry let out a sigh, pushing visions of his wife's blank, lifeless eyes from his mind. He kept barrelling down the halls, speeding up as he grew closer to his goal, the halls an unfocused blur. His glasses were clean by now, but he kept rubbing his handkerchief over them, trying to clean away more than just the dust of the day. Finally, the infirmary was before him, giving him new reason to hide the echoes of her sightless brown eyes away. "Mrs. Weasley?" he called out as he entered, slipping his glasses back onto his face as he realized he couldn't actually recognize the vague orange-topped blob without them. "I was wondering if -" All thoughts of asking Molly for help with research fled from his mind as he set eyes on the woman perching at the edge of a white-sheeted bed.

Ginny turned slowly to face him, eyes suddenly widening and skin paling in shock. She rose slowly, shaking her head. "H-harry?"

Four years seemed to melt away in a single moment, and Harry found himself crossing the room to grab her shoulders and keep her from backing away. "It's me, Gin. God, when Professor McGonagall said you'd been kidnapped, I thought HE'D taken you! Are you alright? It wasn't Voldemort, was it?"

"What? I was fine, no one kidnapped me. I was at work, and there was a mob out front that the Death Eaters were using to try to hurt Dad, but Malfoy was there waiting and he took me into hiding until last night." Ginny shook her head sharply, shoving Harry away. "I'm hardly the one who should be answering questions here! It's been four bloody years — what the HELL got into you!?"

Harry held up his hands in what he hoped was a gesture of surrender. He completely forgot the shining gold band on the third finger of his left hand, or the response Ginny would probably show when she became aware of it. He pressed on. "I'm sorry I left, Gin, but there were things I needed to do. Things I needed to realize about myself. Albus was my Secret Keeper — he sent me to New York City, he got me my first job with a law firm there. I finally got the chance to be a regular guy, and it was something I needed."

"A regular guy, hmm? At the expense of how many hundreds of lives? Bill died only a few weeks after you disappeared! Ron ran off to find you and left the whole family behind, Penny got caught in a terrorist attack on the London Tube and sent Percy off hating Muggles! Neville's murdered, Fred's murdered! Angelina and Katie are dead, Colin's dead! Merlin's Beard, Harry, you left us all! For what? To go play Muggle! And look at that — looks like you did a fine old job of it, MARRIED! So much for all the things you promised me!" Ginny started backing up stopping only as she bumped into an infirmary cot, eyes fixed the whole time on the glint of gold on Harry's hand.

"Ginny, I was worthless to the wizarding world as I was — lost and hurt, an orphan without a home to go to, and without Sirius to show me which way was up. I fell in love, really in love, with a wonderful woman in New York. I'm sorry I left like I did, but meeting Rachel gave me a purpose again, and it was just what I needed -"

Her voice reached near hysteria. "You think you can barge right back in here and find everything the way you left it, then? Well newsflash, Harry James Potter! McGonagall might be glad to have the hero back, and Ron's probably ecstatic to see you again, but I'm sick to death of making excuses for you! Go on outside and announce to the world that famous Harry Potter is back to save the day! I swear, you'll have a bigger mob waiting to bust your ass than ANYTHING the bloody Death Eaters could put together!"

"Ginny?" A smooth, and oddly familiar, drawl came from the door. Afraid of angering her any further, Harry didn't turn from Ginny, keeping his hands up in the same non-threatening position. The voice went on, a bit more forcefully, "Are you alright? Is this guy trying to pull something?"

She started visibly as the voice addressed her, and Harry saw some sort of confusion cross her face before she pointed at him accusingly. "Yeah, I'll say he's trying to pull something! Don't recognize him, do you?" With three steps forward, Ginny grabbed his arm and yanked him to face the man behind the voice. "Look who's back in Wizarding Britain, Draco! It's Harry Bloody Potter back to save the day!"

And sure enough, Harry's childhood enemy stood in the doorway, eternal sneer plastered to his face. "Well, if it isn't your dear ex. When I heard there was going to be an attack across the pond, I was hoping you might feel able to grace us all with your presence. What's it been, Potty, four years? Five? You look like shit!"

"Still trading insults for lack of brains, Malfoy? It's too bad working for Voldemort turned out to be a mess for you — I would've loved to curse your face in," Harry spat, ignoring how juvenille he felt, as well as the look of sheer disgust on Ginny's face.

Malfoy's sneer became a full-fledged glare of hate, icy enough to chill Harry to his core. "Give me one reason not to smash your jaw, Potter," he hissed, taking a step closer.

Before Ginny had a chance to hold him back or cheer him on — Harry wasn't sure what she'd do, actually — he took a step back and shook his head. "No need. George already bloodied my nose up."

"Lucky for you, then. Seems George is just as smart as Fred proved himself to be." And just as abruptly as Malfoy had entered, he started ignoring Harry, turning to put a comforting hand on Ginny's shoulder. Harry gaped. "Are you alright, Ginny? He didn't try anything?"

She shook her head lightly. "I can take care of myself, really. But he's married to some Muggle tart anyways." Before Harry could cry out his anger on Rachel's behalf, Ginny turned to him. "You're not wanted here, Harry. I've spent enough of my time covering your ass. Go back to your wife. Go be a lawyer in bloody America and leave me the hell alone!" With a tight smile to Malfoy and a dark glare in Harry's direction, she stormed out of the infirmary.

"Don't bloody touch her, you hear, Potter?" Malfoy hissed, taking a backward step toward the door. "Do so much as look at her wrong, and I'll make you wish you'd never heard of magic."

It was too late for that, Harry mused silently as his enemy disappeared from the room as well. He'd started wishing that long ago.

Hermione buried her face in her hands and sighed deeply. In three hours of searching her private library, not a single reference to Dumbledore's spell had been found. She hoped that Harry's search in the main school library had turned up more — though knowing Albus, she was sure the spell came from some incredibly obscure document now hidden in the room full of belongings he'd accumulated in over a hundred and fifty years of life. There had to be a way to change it so that one other than Harry could cast it. If none was found, it would be long months before he was magically ready to cast such a powerful curse — long months during which dozens of people would probably die.

She set aside her book as a knock sounded on the door of her chambers. "Come right in, it's not locked!" she called, tidying up her stacks of books as best she could.

"It's just me," George's voice replied. "You don't have to clean up. Fred's room was always twice this bad."

"Hi, George," she murmured, beckoning him inside. After he'd taken her invitation and shut the door behind himself, she continued. "Something wrong? You didn't get in too much trouble for punching Harry, did you?"

He shook his head, keeping both hands behind his back. "Just got a dressing down from Snape. Well, that and his demand as to why I didn't do more damage. Sorry I didn't tell you at breakfast after it happened."

"No problem, then. Your hair is all wet... what brings you down the hall to see me?" The cheeky grin that crossed his face was enough to warn Hermione of some sort of surprise — hopefully nothing that would prove to harmful or embarassing.

"A purely social call," George answered, sweeping over to stand beside her as she sat on the couch. With a flourish, he brought his hands from behind his back to present two champagne glasses and a bottle of Chateau Vetinari. Though not a wine expert by any means, Hermione was well aware of the quality of a Vetinari. "I bring a peace offering, and a shoulder to cry on, so long as I can have one in return."

Hermione knocked the pile of books from beside her and gestured broadly. "Then my ratty old couch is yours. Where on earth did you go to get Vetinari? I thought they only sold it in London!"

"I walked down to Hogsmeade and they happened to have a bottle at the little wine shop down from Zonko's. My lucky day, I guess!" With a broad grin, George set the glasses on the table, popped the cork, and poured more than enough champagne into each glass.

"Oooh, champagne... I haven't had any since this past New Years. You should've been here then! Albus had too much to drink, old coot, though he never does hold his alcohol well. He dragged Poppy onto the dance floor at the staff party and started swing dancing with her — and he was doing just fine until he tripped over his own two feet and landed right on his bum, and knocked Severus over in the process -" Hermione stopped abruptly and snatched the glass from the table before her, taking a long drink. "We should do a toast. You and me. To Albus and Fred, who never lived to see the end of the war. To Bill and Neville, Angelina and Katie, gone but never forgotten. And for the seven classmates of mine who are still missing tonight, since Ginny and Draco and Morag MacDougal showed their faces."

"A toast," George murmured in agreement, setting aside the champagne bottle for his own glass. "To everyone who should be here, but is no longer, because of Voldemort's evil." They clinked glasses and drained them, setting Hermione to filling them once more.

She gave a short laugh. "You're trying to get me drunk, aren't you."

"A point to Gryffindor!" George exclaimed, holding his newly refilled glass high. "I think that just this once, it's time to set aside your inhibitions and let it out. Now, turning into a drunkard, like I was trying to do — that's certainly not what I'm trying to do to you. But I propose another toast — to one night of drowning our sorrows, in hopes that tomorrow brings a brighter day."

"To a brighter day," Hermione gave an empty smile, repeating the ceremony of moments earlier. When George filled their glasses for a third time, she let out another laugh. "Honestly, George, it won't be hard to get me drunk. I'm a terrible lightweight."

"Good," George grinned back, kicking his feet up on the table and reaching over to ruffle her hair. "Now, then, I might not be a girly gossip parner like Ginny — nor am I gay, so I'll be a terrible substitute — but go ahead and talk about whatever you want. And I'll not let it get out to the students that you got pissed either."

Hermione slumped in her seat as well, already feeling a bit of euphoria from the bubbles — though most of that, she thought, was probably just in her head. "Albus went off and left us in a terrible bind, didn't he. Harry can't do a bit of magic — he tried to use a simple floatation charm on his trunk this morning, and couldn't even lift it a centimeter. He can get his wand to spark, but it ends right about there. How is he supposed to save the world? It'll take months to get him practiced back to full strength, months!"

George tried to hide his disappointment at Hermione's choice of topic, but didn't manage it well. His face fell visibly. "I'm sure Potter will manage to save the day like always. Never fear, the Boy Wonder is here, and all that."

Pursing her lips, she peered at her glass and then at George before shifting the conversation entirely. "Did you really walk all the way to Hogsmeade in the rain and thunder just to get us a bottle of champagne?"

"Yeah." As she watched, the tips of his ears turned red.

Hermione finished off her third glass and set it down. "George, are you jealous?"

"What?" Seemingly startled, George set his glass to the side. "Jealous of what?"

"Of whom, rather. Are you jealous of Harry?" Though the question was straightforward, she was well aware of the response she'd probably get — no doubt the same one Ron would give in the situation. "Don't brush it off, either. Since the moment he walked back into Hogwarts, he's been treated like a hero, which he isn't. He's hurt, he's lonely, but what he did wasn't heroic at all. Are you jealous of him, despite all of it?"

George gaped for a moment before shrugging lightly. "I'm not jealous of the fame. Hell, I always let Fred stand in the spotlight. He was the dominant twin, I never really wanted to be the one in charge of the schemes. But yes, I'm fairly jealous of Harry. Ever since he showed back up, you've spent all your time talking to him and going giggly over his son, and I'll gladly admit that we never spent much time together before all the shit hit the fan... but yeah, I'm jealous that Harry's got all of your attention now. It was nice, having you there to help after Fred was... gone like that."

"I had no idea," Hermione murmured, giving a small sigh. "You didn't have to punch Harry to get my attention, you know. You could've just... showed up with a bottle of wine."

With a laugh of his own, George grinned. "Punching Harry was more satisfying than you can imagine. I'll blame it on the testosterone if you'd like. However, I'll remember that. Bring a bottle of wine, who'd think of such an odd idea as that!" He sat up and grabbed the champagne from the floor, filling Hermione's cup on the table and topping off his own. "I don't think I'm going to get used to having the git back here. Four years is a bloody long time, especially when he spent it in the middle of a war over in Muggle America. What happened there would be enough to change any bloke."

Hermione nodded. "He's not the same. But, he was one of my best friends for seven years. I'm not going to abandon him to fate after all the three of us went through. Or Ron, even though he's a bloody git."

"Ah! Such language, Professor Granger!" At Hermione's tipsy giggle, George winked rakishly. "Couldn't have labelled him better myself, though. He's a complete and utter bastard for leaving you like that." To emphasize his point, George finished off his glass.

Hermione followed in suit, connections coming despite the alcohol slowly fogging her brain. "What do you want, George? If you could have anything in the world?"

"If you're expecting an answer like world peace' or to bring Fred back,' I'm afraid you'll be disappointed." George stared blankly at his empty champagne glass, rolling the stem between his fingers. "While I would love to have Fred back... one of my Auror friends has this Hebrew saying she got from her mum. L'Chaim, to life. That's what I want more than anything. To seize the moment and just live. I've not been doing enough of that lately."

"I'll toast that. To life." Hermione leaned forward and reached across George for the half-empty bottle of champagne.

George stopped her halfway, grabbing her shoulders lightly. At her questioning look, he clarified. "I want to live again, Hermione." And he leaned forward, and brushed his lips against hers.

Hermione was surprised more by her own response than the embrace she'd been anticipating since the unveiling of the bottle. She dropped her empty glass on the couch and wrapped her arms around his neck, keeping him from escaping the kiss she returned much more passionately than the one which spawned it. 

She lost track of time, aware only of the lips caressing hers, the beat of his heart as his arms wrapped around her and pulled her body to his, and the excitement speeding her breath. George pulled away, moving back just far enough to meet her eyes. "What do you want, Hermione?" he echoed, running his fingers along her cheekbone.

"To live," she murmured back, pressing eagerly into his embrace. The sound of the rain pounding on the windows became the only sound audible.

A/N: Next time on "As the Wand Turns":: wink :: Voldie and Ron make appearances.

Role of honour: Draco-lover, kichigai kimita, Kacella (I can do kitschy romance ::wink:: I just choose to do something better!), S.Maldiva (answers for that will come, but not for quite a while!), Breea (thanks! 6 projects to go — that's about 30 pages of papers. Geh.), sunnycouger (hopefully this chapter cleared up a bit for you ::wink::), The Perfect Drain (cute name! And I love Fred too. I miss the bugger. Maybe I'll write a short side-bit after this fic is done about Fred and Blaise and how the hell a Death Eater and a spy got together!)


	19. Swallowed the Light From the Sun

A/N: I should be doing homework. But, having just finished my 9 page term paper on the ideals of republicanism and the enigma of slavery in the South during the Revolutionary war, it's time to play! This chapter is dedicated to smile7499, the hundreth reviewer! (Heavens above, I've got over a hundred reviews! Have I mentioned I love reviews and they make my day? ::innocent smile::) Right — time to post and go back to sleep, and hopefully get rid of this stomach bug by class on Friday...

Chapter Eighteen — Swallowed the Light From the Sun

"Coming down, the world turned over

And angels fall without you there

And I go on as you get colder

But I knew someone was there."

-Goo Goo Dolls, "Black Balloon"

Friday, November 7, 2003

David Avery knelt before the glory of the Dark Lord, bowing his head in fealty. "I bring news of Malfoy, my Lord."

The touch of the man sent a shiver down his spine and without looking up, he could feel the cold gaze of Voldemort's serpentine face. "I knew him to be a concern the moment he brought a Weasley to me, no matter the great loyalty of my spy... what have you uncovered, Avery?"

"I've found one who would be most useful in insuring Baron Malfoy's return to you, my Lord." David grinned, picturing in his mind the glory the Dark Lord would bestow upon him for the tidings. "And she wears the Mark."

"I grow impatient. Rise, David Avery, and give your tidings." The black velvet cape slung across Voldemort's shoulders swished as the tall figure turned and crossed the sitting room of Malfoy Manor, sliding easily into a cushioned chair.

David rose to his feet, giving another gallant bow before approaching the throne. "Duchess Zabini claims to be pregnant with his child, Lord."

And as anticipated — his time had come! He had more information, plenty of information about the activities of Draco Malfoy since the end of October, but equally had plenty of time to bind Voldemort's needs with rank advancement for Avery himself before all the pieces were on the table. He imagined a little pawn marching across the board toward the majesty of the white king that blonde Malfoy had become. Voldemort's face twisted in a cruel grin. "So he cries out in his pain for a Weasley, but spends his nights in the bed of a duchess? Perhaps Baron Malfoy requires more watching than I'd expected... thank you for the information, Avery. I would have you bring Duchess Zabini before me at the soonest chance you have."

He tossed out the line. "I have more news than just that, my Lord."

"More? Come, David, have at it." Voldemort propped his face in his hand, the smirk playing across his serpentine countenance enough to tell Avery that the bait had been swallowed up; hook, line, and sinker.

"One of my sources saw him at the burial of Fred and Percy Weasley last Friday. He stood beside George Weasley and Potter's Mudblood friend, Granger. AND he was seen at the riot that Crabbe and Goyle began, though he disappeared before Virginia Weasley was taken by the brown-haired man." One final piece held back, and the strategy would be complete.

Once again, Voldemort stepped up to the challenge. "Proof that Malfoy is a spy, then... have you anything else to report? About the brown-haired man, or Malfoy's appearance at the riot?"

Checkmate. "I saw Draco Malfoy duck into an alley. Moments later, a brown-haired man came out of the alley and pushed his way to the front of the mob... and grabbed up Virginia Weasley the moment he came through the door." David let his mouth curve into a smirk. "I'd say you were quite right about Malfoy, my Lord."

Despite Voldemort's snort of derision and annoyed "But of course I was right," David knew he'd come out on top. "Leave a message for Baron Malfoy to attend me the moment he returns to the Manor. Send Narcissa to me now. And... make sure that Duchess Zabini's whereabouts are known at all times. In fact..." Voldemort let out a cruel laugh. "Have Duchess Zabini escorted to the Manor and settled into a guest room. I'd like to keep an eye on the girl."

David bowed low, backing toward the door. "Of course, my Lord. Your will be done, my Lord."

"One more thing, David. You'll be in charge of Malfoy's unit in the Sunday attack. You're dismissed, my loyal friend." Jackpot. David stood tall and turned to go.

As he left the sitting room, David heard the voice of the Dark Lord call after him. "Continue your work, David Avery, and the search for Malfoy's successor may be a short one indeed."

Blaise looked up in surprise from her bubling cauldron as Davie's face appeared in the fireplace. "Blaisie!" he exclaimed, "I thought I'd find you over some potion or another. Have a moment?"

She took the cauldron off the fire to keep the Healing Draught from boiling all the water off. "I suppose, if it's urgent." Smoothing her potion-splattered apron down over her ever-growing middle, she stepped over to greet her guest. 

He stepped through the floo-network in only a moment, bending over to plant a kiss on her cheek. "It's extremely urgent, dear Duchess. Our Lord was overjoyed to hear of the coming birth of the Malfoy heir! However, he's heard hints of a possible raid on your family's home by the Aurors, and insists that you come to stay at the home of your child's father until things have cleared up."

Blaise froze, unable to keep the look of shock from her face. It was over, then. One simple lie and Voldemort knew. "I... need time to gather things for my stay. Give me a day to ready myself?" She took a backward step for the door, mind racing as to places she might run to.

"There's no time for trifles, Blaise," Davie responded, grabbing firm hold on her arm. Standing proud, she didn't wince in pain. The cold and calculating glint in his eye gave all the explanation she needed. 

After the last student filed out of Hermione's 5th year Defense Against the Dark Arts class, George slipped in, bearing a box and a grin. Hermione peeked out into the hallway, glancing around carefully for signs of anyone passing and closed the door again before speaking. "What are you doing here? I thought we were going to meet after dinner."

"No hello?" George countered, setting aside the box to slide his arms around Hermione and pin her against the wall beside the door. "I brought dinner, actually. I found a stash of Muggle money I had stuffed in one of my socks after some mission and decided to use it... I went down to the edge of the Apparition field and popped over to London for some Indian takeaway. I went to the best place in town... rice, nan, curry..."

"Oooh, Indian," Hermione grinned, trying not to drool at the heavenly smells coming from the box on her desk. "I miss good Indian takeaway. The wizarding world certainly is missing something. Now are you going to let me go so I can conjure up a few plates?"

Though the impish grin suddenly plastered on George's face would've been enough of an answer for her, he gave a retort anyways. "Make me." His hands on her body and lips pressed to hers kept her from giving any answer.

She forced herself to pull back. "George, we shouldn't be doing this in here. That was my last class, but what if a student comes down to ask for help? I assigned a rather long essay to the 3rd years -"

George shook his head, moving his lips across her neck in kisses which sent her sighing in pleasure. "L'Chaim," he murmured. She stopped protesting, not noticing which pieces of clothing had been shed or even the fact they were in the classroom she'd spent seven years as a student and three as a teacher learning in, lost in a haze of kisses and caresses and George Weasley.

And then the door banged open. They pulled apart with a start, turning sharply to face the intruder, both feeling the heat of embarrassment rising to their faces. "Mione, I brought... James..." Ron trailed off sharply, staring in shock at a rumpled and out of breath couple. 

"Ron, um... I can explain," Hermione began, buttoning her shirt with as much speed as she could manage under the circumstances. She took a step toward him, trying to ignore George's dive for his shirt.

Ron choked, staring bug-eyed at his brother and ex-fiancee. "I — explain? Hermione, that's- that's George!"

"No shit, Sherlock," his brother countered, stepping over to take a baffled looking James from Ron's arms before the baby was dropped in the confusion. He turned and transferred the baby to Hermione's arms before continuing. "Ron, this wasn't what it looked like -" he stopped, let out a laugh and shook his head. "Alright, it was exactly what it looked like. Have something to say about it?"

"George -" Hermione hissed, but Ron cut her off. "Hell, yes, I have something to bloody say about it!" Ron yelped, blood rushing to his face in anger. "You're snogging my girlfriend in an empty classroom! You're a teacher!"

"Since when am I your girlfriend?" Hermione retorted, stepping up to stand beside George. "Four years, Ron. You walked out on me, and you expect me to be standing here waiting for you?"

"I was looking for Harry!" Ron howled, entire body shaking.

"So? You could've been looking for the bloody Ark of the Covenant for all I care! You still left me practically at the altar, wearing your engagement ring! Harry didn't want to be found and you went off on some half-assed Crusade through North America -" Hermione stopped abruptly as James burst into tears, troubled by the yelling around him. She cooed at the baby, rocking him in her arms, before turning a glare on Ron. "You really do believe that Harry coming back fixes everything, don't you."

Ron looked vaguely offended, though the shock on his face showed Hermione that her guess was the right one. "Of course not!" he stumbled over the words, turning a bit pale in panic before a fresh burst of anger turned him flushed red again. "I just thought that maybe you'd give me a second chance -"

George cut him off with a hiss of displeasure. "You deserve a second chance? You showed up for Fred's funeral and left the next bloody day!"

"So you think Fred dying gives you a right to snog my girl?" Ron shouted, taking a belligerent step in his brother's direction.

Unwilling to wait, George to the initiative and slugged Ron in the face. "Stop it, both of you!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping back as James screamed his displeasure. "I'm not your girl,' Ron Weasley! Oh, after you left, I waited. I thought for sure you'd come back after a few months and beg forgiveness for running off like that, but you didn't! And then I opened the Daily Prophet one day and found a photograph on the second page of you and some tart at a Quidditch match in Cleveland! Well, that was the end of you!"

"I- Hermione, I'm sorry, I had a couple flings, but none -"

"Shut it, Ron," Hermione countered. "Go on, George, rough him up a bit. Maybe he needs to have the sense knocked back in his head! It's been four bloody years, Ron, and if I want to go around snogging George or sleeping with George or — hell, marrying George, then that's my business and none of yours!"

George's gape was only matched in intensity by his brothers. Ignoring her beau's shock for the moment, Hermione pressed on. "If you don't mind, I'm a little busy, Ron. Go find Harry in the library and make sure he eats something while he's doing research."

That suggestion seemed to prompt Ron to find his voice. "So you want me to just LEAVE, when I know you and George are going to-"

Hermione advanced, backing Ron out the door. "Sod off, Ronald Weasley!" she shouted, feeling almost giddy with pleasure at finally saying it. And then, she slammed the classroom door in his face.

She was fully expecting some sort of soap opera drama, with George running forward to sweep her off her feet and proclaim his eternal love, baby cradled in her arms or not. She turned instead to find him stammering in shock. "M-m-marry?"

With a sigh of exasperation, Hermione stalked over to the box of curry and rice and conjured up a fork. "Don't press it, George. I had to say something to get him to shut up. Lemon curry?"

A/N: Alright, I'm evil. And I'm not a particular fan of Ron, so forgive me! ::wink:: Anyways, next time — Blaise takes a chance and Draco makes a choice.

Role of Honour: S.Maldiva (I'm a big fan of Hermione with anyone other than Ron. ::innocent wink::), Karna (Thanks! I'm rather proud of my Dumbledore moment!), heath and sar (Thanks! Glad you like it!), Blue Yeti (Hmm. Me, gothic? That's kinda amusing. I'm the straightlaced Jewish kid with a Slytherin edge. And how can Harry NOT be depressed? Poor kid got the short straw! ::sadistic grin:: I've got plenty planned for him, yet...), Breea (Oooh, a squeal? Don't worry, my mother thinks I'm insane too! Vacuum the bugs... yeah, vacuum... I should do that... ::looks around at her messy dorm room and slinks away), smile 7499 (Yay! You're my 100th reviewer! You get a cookie!), sunnycouger (::Beam:: glad you liked it!), ljp (And here you go! Hope this one's as angst-filled as the rest!)


	20. A Breath Away From Hell

A/N: Happy Sunday! I've got 47 pages of schoolwork left to write until May 18, the last day of finals... but that won't keep me from writing this too! In fact, my draft is now only 3 chapters from the end... ::evil cackle:: I just finished typing up chapter Thirty-One, which has enough angst/drama to make even ME depressed. And I'm the writer! To quote my beta, "Mmm.... angsty-goodness...."

Oh, if you're anywhere near Iowa City, go to Masala, a little Indian restaurant near the university. Best food in the entire world. I had basmati rice and curry (and nan. Mm). I'm in heaven. Curry and Harry Potter — what could be better? Well, more Harry Potter, I suppose... 

Chapter Nineteen — A Breath Away from Hell

"It's a world, where the dogs eat the dogs

Where they kill for the bones in the street

And God in His Heaven, he don't interfere

Cause He's dead as the stiffs at me feet."

-Les Miserables, "Dog Eats Dog"

Saturday, November 8, 2003

She was confined to her room. Blaise moaned softly to herself, squeezing her eyes shut against the memories of Fred, memories which had been haunting her ever more often. She'd made a terrible mistake, one which would cost Draco his life, not to mention the lives of herself and the unborn child of Fred Weasley.

There had to be a way to warn Draco. Anything to get him to stay away from the house. And then, salvation came, in the form of one Narcissa Malfoy.

The other woman slipped into the plush bedroom which had become Blaise Zabini's prison, and set a tray of food on the table. "Hello, my dear... you looked quite bored the last time I made an appearance, so I thought I'd play house-elf for a bit and pop in with your lunch."

"Thank you, Narcissa," Blaise replied, her grateful tone not an act. "Has Lord Voldemort given new orders for my keeping?"

Narcissa waved the implications away. "He's just worried that Draco's gone and made a fool of himself. I know my boy, Blaise, and I know he's smarter than that. He's well aware of what our Lord would do if he turned."

Blaise made a murmured noise of assent, hoping to keep from betraying herself yet again. She picked her words carefully, taking a bite of chicken before setting up for the gambit. "I was hoping I might write him a little note... I promised to send him a letter every day, to tell him how the baby is, and all. If I write it with you watching, would you make sure it is sent by owl? Then you can tell Lord Voldemort whatever he wishes to know of it."

"A note?" Narcissa's gaze turned cold and calculating. "I'll read the letter before it is sent. That seems enough to me — though if it says something odd, I'll destroy it. You'd best not be trying to charm it, or I'll know."

Blaise gave an affronted glare. "Narcissa! I thought you knew me better than that!" Mrs. Malfoy gave a snort of derision in return, but sauntered away to attend to something else. Blaise snatched up pen and paper and scribbled down the first things which came to mind.

__

Draco-

Sorry about the argument Wednesday. Lovely visit with Davie on Thursday. Baby's fine. Keep safe, I'm fine, visiting your Mum at the manor.

With love, Blaise

She read over it again with a nod, hoping the hidden clues would be obvious enough for even Draco to find. Blaise called Narcissa over for approval to send off the owl.

Draco Malfoy sighed into his lunch, trying to avoid the glares sent his way by Ron, from across the infirmary. Finally sick of it, he pushed to his feet and yanked shut the curtains around his bed, put there to hide the spy's identity from students. Every day he spent hidden away at Hogwarts was one more chance for Voldemort to discover what had happened — and each day gone was probably one less chance of living out the month. Suddenly, the food stacked neatly on the hospital tray looked a lot less appetizing.

The curtain was pushed back to admit the form of Madame Pomfrey, a large spotted owl perched on her shoulder. "An owl for you, Draco."

He gave a curt nod, snatching the scroll as politely as possible, turning it so the gossipy healer couldn't read over his shoulder. However, on the second sentence, he stopped short. David Avery had been at Blaise's manor. Alarm bells went off in his brain, twice as loud when he read about the baby and her "visiting" the manor. "Shit, shit, shit," he growled, ignoring the shocked look from Poppy's direction. "Madame Pomfrey, I need your help. Please, bring Dumb- er, Headmistress McGonagall, Professor Snape, and Ginny Weasley here right away. It's life and death." He kept his voice steady and serious, hoping to convince Poppy of the enormity of the situation.

Luckily, she seemed to accept his need and turned to hurry from the room, sending off the owl as she went. While it could be that the note was harmless, it seemed more than likely that Blaise was being held at Malfoy Manor, rather than visiting his mother, as the letter stated. What proof did David have of her loyalty? 

Draco didn't have long to wait before McGonagall slipped into the curtained enclosure. "What is it, Draco?" He tossed the scroll to her, waiting as she read it. Her confusion turned to disapproval. "It's a letter, yes?"

"Davie is David Avery. Blaise and my mother don't get along. I think my cover's been blown wide open." He slumped back against the pillow on the bed, scowling at his hands.

"Do you think they had someone waiting for you in Verona? That was your cover, correct?" At Draco's curt nod, Minerva sunk to a seat on the end of the bed. "We shouldn't have kept you here for so long. If you showed up in Verona now, might there be a way to salvage your position? Or... might there be a way to come up with a cover story for your disappearance?"

He shook his head. "If I'd been gone a day... Damnit, I wonder if someone saw me at the Ministry riot?"

The curtains were shoved aside to admit Severus Snape, followed closely by Ginny Weasley. Draco caught sight of a dark glare from Ron, who was having a broken jaw attended to by Poppy, before the linen was jerked shut. Snape rounded on him immediately. "This had better be worth sending a class of Hufflepuffs back to their dormitories for, Draco."

"Blaise is being held at Malfoy Manor. Voldemort knows, Severus." Draco grabbed the parchment from McGonagall and offered it to Snape, who read it and gave a snarl.

"Are you going to find a way to get her out? You have to get her out, Malfoy, that's my niece or nephew she's pregnant with!" Ginny hissed, keeping quiet due to Ron's presence across the room.

"Draco, you can't go back in there. They'll kill you the moment they see your face," Snape sighed. "We can put together a rescue party, send them in on Sunday, when we'll be sure there are few Death Eaters present -"

"There are traps around the house. I know, I set most of them up. I can get in, I can lead her out — but I have to do it alone. Taking a large group would only inconvenience me." Draco rose to his feet, grabbing his wand from the bedside table. "I'll stay the night elsewhere and spend tomorrow gathering the tools I'll need. Is that satisfactory?"

Ginny opened her mouth to comment, then turned and fled the enclosure, leaving Snape and McGonagall staring after her in confusion. Draco could only smirk and hope. "Hmm, maybe she'll miss me when I'm gone?"

McGonagall shot a disapproving frown in his direction. "Draco, this really isn't a good idea."

"And sending a team of Aurors into the fire is? If they capture me, all they'll know is that Snape's a traitor. Wow! They already knew that! And that you've taken over Albus Dumbledore's role as spymaster for the Light? They may not know for sure, but they've guessed. If I'm lost, it's just one life. If I can get Blaise out, that's two saved. And it's the baby of your precious Gryffindor Weasley twin, how can you pass that up, Professor?" Draco yanked open the drawer of the bedside table, ignoring the hurt expression that flashed across the woman's face before being replaced with a mask of impassivity to rival Snape's best.

"That was entirely uncalled for, Draco."

"I'm an adult, you're an adult. I know your bias. I know what Albus' bias was. Don't try to hide it, Minerva McGonagall — I've spent too many years dealing with Voldemort to let the wool get pulled over my eyes." Draco finished cleaning the drawers. "I'm going down to the library. If you get a better idea, find me there. I'll likely have left the castle before nightfall." He touched his wand to his hair and shifted the color a pale brown, effectively hiding his identity, before storming off.

Snape chortled softly. "My, Minerva... he seemed brazen as a Gryffindor for just a moment, there." Minvera, for her part, gave a snort and stalked off as well, leaving Snape laughing uproariously in the presence of a confused — and most likely frightened — Ron Weasley.

A/N: Next time: Ron and Harry bicker, Ginny muses, and Draco chooses.

Role of Honour: smile7599 (I'm just not a Ron lover... especially after GoF. He's so mean to Harry! Well, that, and I've read Ebony's "Trouble in Paradise". Absolutely wonderful fanfic — Go read it! — but Ron's no angel... well, none of them are, in that fic...), ljp (Hold your horses, dearie. I'm a confessed D/G shipper. I'm not leaving them out. It'll just take a wee bit...), S.Maldiva (Yup! Thick plot! Thick as molasses! By the time I'm done with it, it'll be thick enough to make a spoon stand in — much like Dining Hall cuisine ::shudder::), The Perfect Drain (hopefully this chapter answered some of your questions), Swim Freak (Hehe. Lemon Curry. I had to... Monty Python references rock...), sunnycouger (Yup! Georgie the boxer! ::grin::), Karna (Indian! I want Masala! Mmmm... curry.... ::drool:: Oh, and Voldie isn't that stupid. Far from it... he knows EXACTLY what he's doing....), durendal (Thanks much! I love Blaise, too :) Too bad she won't be around for the whole story.)


	21. I Must Do What I Must

A/N: I hate it when profs say they'll edit my paper, then never give it back... grr. So, instead of editing... I'm goofing off and posting fics! 

Disclaimer: Potter's not mine. Shakespeare's not mine. Frankly, very little IS mine. Damned college costing an arm and a leg...

Chapter Twenty — I Must Do What I Must

"Believe me I don't want to go

And it'll grieve me cause I love you so

Wish I could say the right words to lead you through this land

Wish I could play the father and make you understand

Wish I could stay."

-Buffy Cast, "Wish I Could Stay (reprise)"

Saturday, November 8, 2003

With a mournful sigh, Ron slid into a chair across from Harry at an out-of-the-way table in the Hogwarts library. "Harry," he moaned, letting his forehead smack to the table with an audible thump as he slumped forward in his seat, "I walked in on Hermione and George."

The expected sympathy never surfaced. Harry gave a short laugh and flipped through a tome. "Really, Ron, it's been over 4 years. Do you really think she'd sit and wait for you to show your sorry ass again?"

Ron scowled, refusing to move his head. "You sound like a bloody Yank."

"Rachel rubbed off on me," Harry replied, flipping a page. "At least I still say schedule right. You should've heard her in the morning. Honey, what's your skedju-el for today?' Damn Yanks think English is their language."

"Harry, did you mean it? At the meeting, when you said you couldn't do magic anymore?" He certainly hadn't meant to let the words come spilling out as they did, but Ron wasn't known for being the Weasley with the best timing. That had been Bill. Or maybe Percy. It didn't matter anyways, they were both dead and buried.

Harry sat silently, leaving Ron with uncomfortable thoughts before answering. "I've still got magic. I'm not a Squib."

"I never said you were," Ron retorted. He finally raised his forehead from the desk, ready to slam it back down if foot and mouth met, as they often seemed to. "Do you reckon You-Know-Who will try to take Hogwarts this weekend? Cause if he does, he'll win — you can't cast the bloody spell."

"Reckon is a Yank word," Harry replied, yawning. "And yeah, if Voldemort comes this weekend, we're doomed. Would you stop reminding me?"

Ron kicked at a table leg. "What are you looking for?"

"Hermione wants to know where Albus' spell came from. She's sure it can be modified to allow someone else to cast the spell, or cast it using my wand, or something like that. I think we'll just have to wait until I can use magic again." Harry tapped his wand on the table, the nervous habit creating the only sound in the library.

Harry hadn't used to have nervous habits. "Why isn't Hermione doing the research then? It seems like her kind of thing." Ron stopped, abruptly. "Oh, yeah. Never mind, I forgot — she's busy playing tonsil-hockey with my dear brother."

"Yank."

Ron gave up and let his forehead drop back on the table. The nice loud thump was a wonderful distraction from Harry's wand-taps, though the irritation returned once the noise Ron had created echoed away. "Maybe you should stop researching the spell, then."

Harry gave another snort. "And do what instead, listen to you bitch and moan?"

"Find a way to get your magic back."

The sentence hung like thick fog between them until Ron continued. "There has to be a spell to boost someone's magic usage, or boost the ability to channel magic... maybe one to borrow magic? Then you could use some of mine and some of Hermione's and all of Malfoy's so he keeps his fucking hands off my sister — and you could destroy You-Know-Who using that?"

Overlooking the comment about Malfoy, Harry gave a shrug. "I don't think the spell exists, but it has to be a better avenue to try than this dead-end." Ron looked up to find a book shoved in his face. He stifled a groan, trying not to superimpose the image of a fifth-year Hermione over Harry's face. "Don't give me that look," Harry countered. "You suggested it, you're helping."

Wistfully, Ron thought of the little apartment in L.A. he called home. Life seemed to have a way of getting more difficult.

Draco stalked down the halls of Hogwarts toward the library, oblivious to the less-than-congenial greeting he would receive were he to make it that far. A few hours of research had quickly transformed into an extra night spent recooperating in the hospital wing, and he was eager to get on his way to the manor. Well, eager wasn't the right word. He was likely marching into the jaws of death, but the ghost of Fred Weasley seemed to march one step ahead, mocking and jeering until his still-living friend went to rescue the dead man's lover. It would be a relief when Fred's ghost could finally be put to rest, as Blaise and Fred Jr. went into hiding. 

One hallway short of the library, Draco turned the corner and ran into Ginny Weasley. Literally. He didn't have time to consider how many times they'd ended up in a similar situation before — though in other instances it usually ended up with Draco insulting her family and Ginny running away in tears. 

This time was only slightly different. Draco pulled himself to his feet and offered a hand to Ginny, who was still on her backside on the floor. "I'm really sorry about that, Ginny. Are you alright?"

Ginny climbed to her feet of her own volition and started backing away from Draco, tears suddenly appearing on her face. Afraid she was about to take off running, Draco grabbed her shoulders, turning her sharply so the only way to back up was directly into the wall. "Ginny, please — what did I do wrong? I thought I was just some Death Eater with a conscience."

"You're confusing me, and Harry's confusing me, and Ron's confusing me — when did life stop being easy to understand?!" she screetched in near hysterics, struggling to get away from the wall.

Faced with the prospect of a hysterical woman in the middle of a Hogwarts hallway that would be busy in several moments when the children got out of lunch, Draco did the only thing possible. He picked up Ginny, tossed her over his shoulder, and dragged her into a classroom which would remain empty on a Saturday afternoon. She kicked and screamed the entire way, of course, eliciting a horrified gasp from a passing Ravenclaw first-year at her language, but managed to make a dash for the door the moment Draco set her down.

"Damnit, Ginny, would you tell me what's going on? The last I knew, you could barely stand to look at me!"

His plea stopped her with her hand on the doorknob. "You know, you can be just as dense as my brother sometimes, Malfoy," she spat, all other words refusing to shape themselves in her mouth. For all she knew, those would be the last words of hers he'd ever hear — and he HAD proved that he cared what happened to her; he'd saved her from the riot and made sure she'd gotten to Hogwarts... but the words she was supposed to say didn't come when she wanted them.

He didn't react to the statement audibly, but the sudden slump of his shoulders was more than enough to let Ginny know how much she'd hurt him with just a sentence. "Right," he muttered. "I can't waste any more time here. I'll get Blaise and your nephew out of there somehow. I'll see you in hell, I guess." And Draco pushed past her and disappeared down the hall. She didn't bother to call for him to stop and listen — it was probably too late for that, anyways.

__

Two houses, both alike in dignity, she mused. _From forth the fatal loins of these two foes; a pair of star-crossed lovers take their life._ If only William Shakespeare knew.

He didn't see her again before he left Hogwarts, but he thought of little else. And so, halfway to Malfoy Manor, Draco ducked into a florist shop. He ordered a single rose, scribbled out a short note, and sent off the florist's owl for the delivery. Draco sent his final goodbye and started back on his journey.

A/N: Next time... Chapter 21, "The Rose". Go ahead and guess what it's about ::wink::

Role of Honour: karna (::whine:: but I LIKE to make fun of Gryffindors! I'm a Slytherin!), S.Maldiva (In-laws? Oh, that would be hilarious. Don't be looking forward to that, though. ::wink::), sunnycouger (::laugh:: I thought that would catch your eye... but remember, no Weasleys will die... ::hinthint::), Princess Tangawine (soon enough for ya?), ljp (::grin:: Sarah? Nice name there. Very nice name. ::snickers to herself:: There will be more Hermi/George, but I DO have to concentrate on plot once in a while!), Swim Freak (Fred Jr will show up in the epilogue. Take what you will from that...), Jam-jackson (2 roses. And George punched Ron two chapters ago), Breea (About Narcissa... go back to when she was first introduced. That should tell you exactly what her angle is.), smile7499 (4! See? 4! Sorry, hon, fingers must've slipped on the last role ::wink:: And I feel your pain, little Ravenclaw! Slytherins get the crap end of the bargain even worse than you, however — Snape v. Marauders? Sheesh.)


	22. The Rose

A/N: Well, I don't have strep, but I am sick... and that means I didn't have to go to class today! Which means writing and posting time! The first draft of Sunday is officially completed! It stands at 33 chapters plus Prologue and Epilogue. It will be posted in its entirety by mid-May at the latest. And until then, you can track down my beta, MrSmiley4, and try to beat/Crucio the secrets out of him.... ::wink::

Chapter Twenty-One — The Rose

"When the night has been too lonely

And the road has been too long

And you think that love is only 

For the lucky and the strong."

-King's Singers, "The Rose"

Sunday, November 9, 2003

A hint of sunlight crept over the cots the five Weasleys kept as beds in the infirmary. Ginny met it awake, staring at the ceiling in silent vigil. Three lives hung in the balance this day.

A shadow flitted across the growing expanse of dawn, sending Ginny sitting up to seek its source. There, gliding on the late autumn wind, a tawny barn owl approached. From a distance, Ginny already knew what was contained in the thin package grasped in the creature's claws.

One white rose, brother to the four left abandoned on the mantle of the fireplace in Molly Weasley's haste to escape the death trap the Burrow had become, in the aftermath of one Tuesday morning. The package dropped in Ginny's lap and the owl disappeared out the window without begging for food, this time.

Each time before, the white rose had come on the anniversary of a death. Three times that death had been Neville's, joined this year by four — remembrance of Percy and Fred, for two of them, the reason for the other two unknown. They had carried no message. The sender seemed to assume that the package spoke for itself, that one white rose was worth a thousand words on parchment. Last year, she'd dreaded the day the rose came and the anniversary it signalled. This year had been overshadowed by the horror that Percy committed only moments after its arrival. But the appearance of a rose on this day, Sunday the Ninth, gave face to the nameless one who'd made sure a rose was there to give Ginny hope on the anniversary of despair. And its appearance today left Ginny wondering as to whether a white rose would come to offer hope next year.

With trembling hands, she tore away the simple florist's wrappings, hoping against all hope for the slip of paper which hadn't been present in other years... and there it was, wrapped around the stem of the most perfect rose Ginny had ever set eyes on. The delicate petals were of a creamy white, just as they'd been each time before, but the tips were deep red, as if Nature had gingerly dipped the bud's tip in blood.

The faultless flower held Ginny's attention for only a moment. Never setting the rose down, she unrolled the short length of parchment. The flowing penmanship, black on cream-coloured parchment, caught and held Ginny's full attention.

__

Dearest Ginny,

Each year, the rose you received came with different meaning — the first, white with guilt. The second white of loneliness. The thir was white of hope. And the four, white of shared pain — the brother I killed, the fiancee whose death made me remember to grieve, the brother I should not have ignored, and the brother who became my only true friend. This rose is the white of parting, and the blood red of love. Next year when no rose will find you, remember the one who would send them always.

All my love,

Draco Malfoy

Ginny sat silently, the perfect rose clutched tightly in one hand, unaware of the prick of thorns drawing blood from her palm. Only after the precious note had been tucked away and a spontaneously remembered spell preserved the beloved flower for always did Ginny let the tears of regret flow freely.

Draco marched silently across the serpent seal of the Malfoy family, hoping against all hope that his mother was far from the manor that morning. The glamour wrapped around himself would hold true for anyone but those of veela blood — his mother and David Avery being the only two he knew of among the Death Eaters who might be assembled before their weekly attack. And David didn't have enough to glamour himself — he could only see the glamour of others, as if Fate decided to make Draco's work just that much harder.

They should be gone by now, off to kill and pillage whichever small town they'd decided upon for today. That, and seven hostages were hidden somewhere out there, all member's of Draco's own graduating class. He hadn't really known any of them, but thought that one of them — the Patil girl — had been Harry's date to the Yule Ball during the year of Voldemort's rising. To what use they were intended, Draco figured he'd never know. Getting Blaise out would probably cost him his life.

Once again, he silently thanked the Malfoy ancestor who'd created the charm which masked the presence of any Malfoy heir within the family home. The glamour cast over himself would make any servants or Death Eaters look past him, like an anti-Muggle charm. Total invisibility. He crept up the stair, wary of any noise, lest a house-elf hear a noise where one shouldn't be.

To the left, down the plushly carpeted hallway, his footsteps conveniently masked. He stopped short as he heard a noise from downstairs, then relaxed as he recognized the bawdy laugh of Greg Goyle. The imbecile had likely been left guard, the only duty he was fit for. His mother didn't stand guard in front of the master guest room, as he'd feared. Luck seemed to be going his way for once. Perhaps he'd make it back to apologize for the note.

Draco pushed the door open as far as he could without attracting attention and slipped inside, immediately conscious of Blaise sitting pensively on a window seat. He checked the adjoining rooms for extra persons and, finding none, clamped a hand over her mouth and dropped his glamour at the same moment. "Boo," he whispered, smirk plastered to his face as she tried to scream in surprise.

The momentary panic faded and she shoved him back. "Damnit, Draco," she hissed, tensing perceptably, "you weren't supposed to come! I'll be dead before nightfall!"

"You think I'd let Fred Jr. die with you? Sorry, Blaise, but the Duchy can't pass to another cousin — it was messed up enough when your grandad had to take it. Now hurry, we've got to get out of here before any Death Eaters get back." Draco rose and grabbed ahold of her hands, yanking her to her feet.

Blaise drew back shaking her head. "Draco, I can't Apparate, I'm pregnant! How am I supposed to get away? And they haven't left for the attack yet, your mum said it was happening later this afternoon, for some reason. I think they're trying to take the Ministry!"

Draco tossed an arm around her waist, dragging her toward the doors. "We sneak into Father's study. It's the only fireplace hooked up to the floo network. I'm not letting you die, even if I lose my life in the bargain. Fred deserves better, Blaise." He poked his head out first, listening for the sound of Goyle checking the upstairs or Death Eaters arriving for a pre-slaughter meeting. When nothing was forthcoming, he dragged Blaise bodily into the hall, hurrying her on toward the back stairs.

Dark and dingy, only the servants used them. Blaise made a noise of disgust, but Draco didn't give it second thought, plowing down the halls and byways of the mansion of his childhood, stopping short every time a noise sounded in the distance. 

There were no interruptions, however, something which worried Draco more than the danger of the rescue. There was a trap set somewhere in the manor. If Blaise hadn't been the bait, what was?

The study was as empty as the rest of the house, though it had been neatly abandoned when Lucius had been dragged before the Auror Tribunal. No dust marred the room, due to Narcissa's influence, but the chair Lucius had been yanked from still lie discared on its side, waiting for its owner to return to right it. No such luck. The Kissed Lucius Malfoy had been found dead in a pool of his own blood, termed suicide. It wasn't, of course. It was murder, since he'd had no soul left to direct his body. No one cared about the fate of a once-great man. Evil, yes — but great.

"Blaise, seven of our classmates were kidnapped last week. Have you heard anything of them?" Draco snatched the pot of floo powder from the mantle and thrust it at Blaise, waiting impatiently.

She nodded before taking a pinch of the dust. "Narcissa was gloating about it. She's been keeping them down in the dungeon. I don't know what they're for."

Damnit. Bait. Draco nudged Blaise toward the fireplace. "Get out, now. Hogwarts is back on the floo network for five hours this morning. The keyword is Snape's Office, it's the only one on the loop. I'm going to find the hostages."

"Don't. It has to be a trap. If my room wasn't warded, and you got me out so easily, it has to be." Blaise grabbed his arm, her face suddenly a whirlpool of fear and doubt. He didn't see the Duchess like that often.

"Potter's back, Blaise. He'll use them as bait for that trap. I'm the last chance they've got. Damn, I hate playing hero. Now get out of here and get Fred's brat safe, alright? And I don't want to be buried in the family cemetary, I don't belong there." Draco shoved her toward the fireplace insistantly.

With a sigh of resignation, Blaise threw her arms around Draco in an embrace. "I'm going to miss you. Tell Fred I'm sorry."

"Tell Ginny the same." Draco turned and started for the door, wrapping the glamour around himself before he heard Blaise call out her destination and slip through the fireplace. She was right. It had been far too easy to get her out. Obviously, she was no longer necessary to Voldemort's plan. Dead before nightfall, she'd said, and Draco believed it. Two lives saved. At least Ginny would be happy.

The passage to the dungeon was as empty as the one to the study, strengthening Draco's feeling of dread. Every footstep echoed on stone, each loud enough to herald his doom. For a moment, he considered turning his wand on himself, to keep the inevitable torture from happening — but the thought of seven men and women doomed in the dank cell beneath the drawing room floor kept him moving. With these seven lives, maybe he could be redeemed, even with his death.

There was no redemption until the one who meant most could forgive him for the anguish which had been his legacy to her family. Maybe there would be no redemption.

He barely noticed walking into the drawing room and lifting the simple trapdoor. Draco climbed down into the dungeon — and saw them, the seven chained to the wall. He pulled off the glamour and stepped into their midst, noting every look of dismay. Ernie MacMillian, Terry Boot, Lisa Turpin, Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Sally-Anne Perks, and Parvati Patil all stared in horror, gaunt and lifeless eyes expecting a horror which Draco wouldn't bring. 

"I'm here to help," he said simply, drawing his wand and moving to Parvati's side. He touched the tip of the wand and muttered softly, "_Alohomora_."

Instead of opening, Draco heard the shriek of an alarm upstairs. He and Parvati met eyes, hers filled with resignation. "Go," she spoke past cracked and parched lips. "Warn Harry."

"Bloody Potter," Draco heard Ernie mutter from down a bit. Though Draco privately agreed, he grasped Parvati's shoulder in compassion. "I've sent someone on ahead. I won't get out of the manor alive. She'll send help," he murmured, stepping back. And he wrapped the glamour back around himself, the last possibility of escape, and scrambled from the dungeon. He managed to close the trapdoor and get halfway to the hall before the drawing room doors were tossed open.

None of the Death Eaters saw him — the glamour worked wonders. Careful not to brush against any of them, he threaded his way through the crowd, almost incredulous at his sheer luck. No one saw him. His mother wasn't there. David wasn't there.

He was free of the swarm. Draco broke out at a dead run. He had to get across the field before he could Apparate, and then up from the gates of Hogwarts to the door before he was truly safe. The front doors of the house were visible.

And then came the cry of alarm. Draco's own mother cried out his death sentence. Without a backward glance, he threw open the door and dashed down the walk. A hex flashed past him and his run changed to a dodge. He heard the terrible cry of "Avada Kedavra," but the green light only flashed past his shoulder.

Was luck back on his side? He seemed to be ahead, to be winning, almost to the gate, almost to freedom — and then David Avery appeared in front of him. The shock in both of their faces sent them stopped sharply on the path to the manor. 

Draco had one advantage. His wand was already out and in hand. And so, as David reached for his wand, the words were already on the tip of his adversary's tongue. The last time he'd have to speak the dread words. "_Avada Kedavra_."

With the flash of light, he didn't wait to watch his childhood friend crumple to the ground. The last time. The last death, he promised himself. He crossed the threshhold and Apparated to safety.

Ginny sat alone outside the infirmary, barely aware of those talking inside. Blaise had come running up moments earlier, with a message. Draco had apologized to her, and walked right into a trap. Like a Gryffindor, he'd run into danger, to try to save the hostages. 

Draco was dead.

The rose lay across her lap, though Ginny paid it little attention. She'd done her crying in the morning, but the reality of the situation hurt just as much. Dead. Draco was dead, and she'd been too cowardly to give him a chance.

Guilt flowed in every vein. She breathed regret and choked on sorrow.

"Ginny?" a quiet voice asked, spearing the silent tension.

She looked up, into inquizitive grey-blue eyes. Her cry of relief echoed down the hall and she shot to her feet, the red-tipped rose tumbling to the floor in haste, not giving thought as to what any passer-by might say — a Weasley hugging a Malfoy. "Gods, I thought you were dead!"

Draco pried her hands off, pushing her to arm's length. "Ginny, I'm sorry. The rose — it was wrong, I shouldn't have sent it. I presumed too much. I'm a Malfoy -"

Ginny shook her head and stopped his speech with fingers pressed to his lips. She studied the anguish in his eyes, the misery and self-loathing, and her thoughts of the night before returned. " My only love, sprung from my only hate. Too early seen unknown, and known too late'," she quoted.

" Prodigious birth of love it is to me, that I must love a loathed enemy'," Draco whispered in response. "Shakespeare." He wasn't supposed to know of Shakespeare. The man had been a squib, as much loathed by the Malfoy family as Muggles. Why had Draco Malfoy been taught the classics of Muggle literature? At the question in her eyes, he explained. "Fred gave me the book, after I confessed to him. I've not read anything else by the man, but I know that play by heart."

"Fred knew?" The only words she could think to ask, though she kicked herself mentally as she'd done the day before. Wrong. She kept doing things wrong.

"Fred knew," Draco repeated. "He knew, and he couldn't tell you, for fear my cover would be broken." He reached up, touching her cheek as if it were glass, and dropped back into another quote. " If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims'-"

"-ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss'," she finished. " O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do'," she skipped ahead, voice dropped to a whisper. 

And Draco bent his head down, lips silencing the lines which came next. Neither noticed Blaise watching from the door, a tear of joy coursing down her face. Most likely, neither would've cared.

A/N: Next time... a Bloody Sunday, "Same Cold Story".

Role of honour: Swim Freak (if I told you that, I'd have to kill you ::wink::), Whish (ooooh, you've highlighted two of my favourite points ::grin:: Just wait around for a few chapters and there's much more Shakespeare...), smile7499 (everyone wishes they were a Slytherin... but not everyone can be! My beta, for instance, is a Ravenclaw with strong Hufflepuff tendencies. I think he's just jealous ::grin::), Princess Tangawine (Thanks!!), S.Maldiva (hehehe. Here's your answer. ::grin:: well, Draco's still not in the clear...), meg (He's not dead — yet! ::cackle:: Well, I can't give away the ending, now can I...?), ljp (yup! I'm a Sarah! We should have a Sarah's anonymous club. There are 35 possible members at my college. By the way, that's 35 out of a total population of only 1300. Hmmm.), Karna (karna, dear, please push the review button only once ::wink:: And Draco? An optimist? Right. ::snort:: the son of a Death Eater is SO going to be an optimist. ::snicker::)


	23. Same Cold Story

A/N: And now, for a windy and cold Sunday.... a chapter of Bloody Sunday! One that actually occurs on a Sunday! Check that action out! (Note to self: 3am is far too late/early to be awake).

Chapter Twenty-Two — Same Cold Story

"Saturday morning's paper before me

All is laid out in black and white

One little story lost on the last page

Told of a Charlie Anyboy."

-The Blenders, "Charlie Anyboy"

Sunday, November 9, 2003

Hermione wondered idly what had made her the unofficial, full-time James nanny. It wasn't that she minded the job, really. James was wonderfully behaved, except for when he was hungry. He was quiet and slept at night, smiled and played happily during the day — he was the perfect little angel. However, a perfect little angel wasn't exactly what Hermione was wanting at the moment. 

She had work to do, and plenty of it. Papers to grade, classes to prepare for, George's grief to deal with. Her own grief to deal with. But, no matter the reason for her designation as James' surrogate mother, she sat curled up in the teacher's lounge with the baby playing happily at her feet. Harry was off researching, once more, and she hadn't set eyes on Ron since the fight in her classroom. It didn't matter what Ron's reaction was, she kept telling herself — but it was really a lie. She did care. She missed the friendship they'd lost when Harry had disappeared. It was too late now, though — too little, too late.

James burbled and grabbed at Hermione's robe hem, grinning the whole time. With a sigh, Hermione slumped forward, propping her chin on a fist. "Well, little one, it seems we're stuck with each other. Your dad's become more of a work-a-holic than I ever was in my school days. And stupid Ron's hiding from me. And Ginny's moping over Malfoy, though I thank God she's safe. I could talk to Demetrius... but he's as dull a man as I've ever met. I wish George wasn't busy today."

George. Now there was a topic of great confusion. She hadn't slept with anyone since Ron, and he had been her first. And now... George stepped in, with his sudden devil-may-care attitude, and she'd fallen head over heals. Of course, having James to look after probably helped — it certainly gave the impression of a little family unit where none existed. They'd put the baby to bed in the evening and fall onto the couch in the front part of the three room flat to snuggle, which usually led to much more, a room away from the baby's slumber. Then, they'd curl up in bed together and rise in the morning to the cry of the child. Only a few days of the routine, and Hermione's maternal instincts had kicked in, in overdrive. It was driving her nuts.

As soon as Harry'd had time to grieve, the baby would leave her care. The relationship with George would return to one of mutual pleasure, until it became too much for either to handle, and the two would end up in tense situations as they worked together at Hogwarts. She'd seen it happen before, between Professor Sprout and Professor McKellun, the Defense teacher in her sixth year. And they were both dead now, anyways. Best to ready herself for the inevitability of the relationship's end, as George found some nice witch to settle down with, and Hermione went back to being lonely. That would make it less painful, in the end.

With a sigh, Hermione flicked her wand to turn on the wireless. Though James was adorable, he wasn't the most wonderful conversationalist. The wizarding radio blazed through a few stations of static before coming to rest on the regular news channel, the only channel she bothered to listen to. "-according to those officials claim to have seen Harry Potter on the grounds of Hogwarts. We're waiting on a statement from Headmistress Minerva McGonagall as to whether or not the school is sheltering the Boy Who Lived, if he has returned to Britain at all."

"Buzzards," Minerva murmured from the doorway, attracting the attention of Hermione. "They've sent dozens of reporters to the doors since Albus' death, and now they lie in wait for another story? Do they think that public pressure of the wireless is going to change my policies?" She made a noise of disgust and slipped into a chair across from the younger woman. The Headmistress then scooped James into her arms and settled him on her lap.

Hermione gave a slight smile. "How long are you going to keep his presence here unofficial? Dozens of students have seen him working in the library, and I'm positive the girl who saw George punch him reported home to her Death Eater father. It's not a secret."

"No. It's not secret." Minerva gave a sigh, shifting the squirming baby to a less painful position on her lap. "I'd like to keep him from the public until he's at least powerful enough to Apparate once more. He needs the appearance of strength, at the very least."

"Minerva," Hermione began hesitantly, not sure whether reapproaching a long-tossed aside topic was a good idea or not, "why is Dina Nott still attending Hogwarts? Or any of the other five with known Death Eater parents, or the half of Slytherin House with suspected loyalties? We're weak, right now, without Albus. You've not yet been firmly cemented as Headmistress. Their being here puts the other students in danger."

As Hermione had thought, her questions weren't well received. "This is a school. This is not a fortress of war. Those children of Death Eaters deserve to learn as much as any Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. Albus understood that, and I understand it, as much as it hurts to watch any of the students I've taught ride off into battle and die. I taught Sirius Black and James Potter alongside Peter Pettigrew and Lucius Malfoy. They weren't heroes or enemies then — they were merely children. If we have the chance to teach one child of a Death Eater that killing isn't right, then that's one victory."

"One child like Draco Malfoy?" Hermione offered.

"Draco Malfoy, Severus Snape, Blaise Zabini — the dear girl's been recovered from Malfoy Manor — each one was as much a triumph as Peter Pettigrew, Percy Weasley, and Roger Davies was a failure. Our job is not to teach only the ones who seem the most righteous, because who knows when we'll end up with another Percy Weasley? Who could look at him when he was Head Boy and know he'd murder his own brother?"

Hermione nodded meekly, finally coming to a slow understanding of Albus' treatment of Draco Malfoy, and Snape's treatment of... everyone. The wireless played a new song by the Ash Tree Nymphs, covering her silence and Minerva's soft cooing noises at the baby, who seemed to be enthralled by the older woman's glasses. She opened her mouth to change the subject to something unrelated to the war, but the song on the wireless was suddenly cut off by an announcer's voice.

"This is an urgent news report. A crowd of cloaked and hooded figures have just been seen breaking down the front door of the Ministry building in London. Aurors have been called to the scene, and our King's Alley reporter will be coming on the airways in just a moment." The voice cut off and Minerva and Hermione exchanged alarmed glances.

The second voice came on over a bit of magical static. "This is Clio Morgan, reporting from the atrium of the Daily Prophet offices in King's Alley. Just outside, at least a dozen Death Eaters are storming the Ministry building. The attack began about fifteen minutes ago, though the timing seems odd to me, even if it is a Sunday. While there are no doubt a good number of workers in the building, the election for new Minister of Magic isn't to occur until tomorrow. Wait — half a dozen men in Auror's robes have just appeared, and are now battling the Death Eaters."

Minerva rose to her feet, holding James close. "I have a terrible feeling, Hermione." James was passed to the other woman, as the reporter kept speaking.

"The battle seems to be going in the favor of the outnumbered Aurors! I can only see five Death Eaters left, and only one Auror has fallen — Zeus! There's more of them! They Apparated in — the front of the Ministry just got blasted in, they've taken the Ministry! The Death Eaters have taken the Ministry of Magic! I can't see any more Aurors outside, I think they're all dead. Oh my... they're coming for the Prophet. Gods have mercy -"

And there was static. Hermione was on her feet in a moment, James tucked close to her body. "I wonder if they're trying to take all of King's Alley? What are we going to do?"

Minerva had no time to answer, as the static stopped and the main studio came over the wireless again. "In one move, the Death Eaters have taken most of King's Alley in London. This is Hyperion Jones on WWN. There's someone yelling out in the hallways. If we go off the air, we have been taken by Death Eaters as well. Whoever is listening, please stay away from the King's Alley section of London! I have a report that the interim Minister of Magic has been moved to an undisclosed location with most of the Magical Council, none of whom were working on this Sunday afternoon. I repeat, the Minister and Council are safe and in hiding. Wait, there's someone coming up the stairs. Keep us on the air, Marcy? We'll keep broadcasting for as long as we can. King's Alley has been taken by Dark forces -" And the signal roared into static again.

Hermione shut off the wireless with a flick of her wrist. "Shit."

"Stay here with James. There will be a meeting of anyone who can make it to the staff room in a half hour. I think this is the end of our safety, Hermione." Headmistress McGonagall turned and swept out of the room.

She sat and stared at the wireless in shock. She'd been expecting some attack today, it was bloody Sunday, after all. But somehow, when Harry Potter was in Great Britain, the expected became horror.

The students safely locked in their dormitories, the staff of Hogwarts and their guests filed into the staff room in confused silence. George took a seat next to Hermione, Snape near Draco and Ginny, who were clutching hands under the table. Ron sat far from all of them, in the midst of the newer Hogwarts teachers, and a few seats from Blaise Zabini. The other Weasleys mingled with the older Hogwarts teachers. McGonagall stood ready at the head of the table — and ready they were, but for one member of the group. His entrance was impeccable. Cloak sweeping in dramatic fasion, no doubt learned from years of Potions lessons with Snape, Harry Potter crossed the room and took a seat near McGonagall.

"King's Alley fell."

Minerva's proclamation sent those assmebled into an uproar which reminded Blaise of nothing more than meetings of the House of Commons on a bad day. Demetrius shouted, Snape thrust to his feet and banged his fist on the table, Ron turned to scream across the table at Draco Malfoy and Ginny stood to protect her newly returned love. It was a good ten minutes before McGonagall managed to regain order.

"No one in office was in the Ministry building. WWN reported that the government officials have been relocated. Wizarding Britain hasn't fallen yet. The question is, how did this happen?" McGonagall sent a piercing glare in Draco's direction, and then Blaise's. 

When Draco shrugged helplessly, Blaise sighed and rose to address the others. "I think it was during the riot. It was incited by the Death Eaters. I've no doubt they must've stripped away a few of the wards while the mob was busy trying to get into the Ministry."

Minerva nodded shortly to Blaise. "Alright, then. Our government is still in place, for now. However, I wouldn't be at all surprised if Hogwarts is near the top of You-Know-Who's list."

"Professor McGonagall — Minerva," Harry Potter spoke up softly, not bothering to get to his feet. "Use his name."

"Voldemort," she hissed angrily, glaring icily down the table. "Voldemort's list. Because Albus is dead, he thinks us weak. We're not. All the wards which were intertwined with Albus' life force have been replaced by permanent versions — though, admittedly, some are weaker. An equal number have been tied in to my own life, and Molly found a spell that will transfer ownership of the wards down the line of command of Hogwarts. In the event of my death, Severus Snape will be the next Headmaster, followed by the other four Heads of House — Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and then Hufflepuff, as established by the Founders — and pass next to Professor Sinistra, Madame Hooch, Professor Dendron, and so on. Hopefully, it won't come to that. Now, are there suggestions to other charms and wards which might be added to the ground in this time of need?"

It took a few moments before anyone spoke, all still stunned by the Headmistress' casual disregard of the possibility of her death. Finally, Charlie Weasley spoke up from beside his parents. "There's an old Romanian charm which keeps track of the number of people within an area at any time. We used it on the dragon's."

"My grandfather, Claudius Malfoy, used that charm on the Manor. I could probably add my strength to yours to make it more potent," Draco offered. He and Ginny were practically curled up together, despite the arms of the chairs between them. Ron looked vaguely sickened, but Blaise triumped silently.

"Good. I'll leave the two of you for that. Anyone else?"

"Magic," Blaise heard herself saying. "It's supposed to be illegal in the hallways, and Filch doesn't use magic to clean anyways. If the castle is overrun, it might give us an advantage to have a magic damper in the hallways." Fred had put a magical dampening field on the front atrium of Voldemort's rooms.

"But they're using Muggle weapons too," George put in. Blaise found herself teary eyed and jerked her head to the side to stop seeing the face of her dead lover. He continued on, not noticing Blaise's private anguish. "Percy..." there was a choke, "Fudge and Dumbledore were murdered using a Muggle weapon. A handgun. Ekletricity doesn't work on Hogwarts grounds, but the handgun doesn't use ekletricity. That's how it worked inside of Fudge's office. They might have the same idea."

Blaise focused on McGonagall, blocking out George's face and voice. Fred's face and voice, only overshadowed with a hopelessness and despair he'd never felt. "We'll put the dampening ward, it was a wonderful idea, Blaise. There's nothing we can do about the... handgun, was it? If they use those, the only thing we can do is hope they have bad aim. Now, Blaise, what do you know about upcoming attacks? And the hostages?"

"They're all in the dungeon of Malfoy Manor," she answered mechanically. "Draco can tell you more about them. He went down to find them after he sent me through the floo network. I knew nothing of today's attack. I don't know how long Voldemort has suspected my betrayal, though. Probably since F-fred -" Blaise bit her lips, willing away tears, and cursed her pregnancy-caused unstable horomones. 

Draco saved her from attention, though his words were barely an echo across her mind. "They look to have been tortured. The moment I attempted to break the bonds, an alarm went off in the compound upstairs. Parvati told me to get out. She told me to warn Potter. I suppose they'll be used as bait for a trap next Sunday."

"Seven hostages. Is that a significant number?" Snape demanded, surprising everyone by taking control of the conversation. "Draco? Ron? Potter? Is seven important?"

"Seven years of Hogwarts?" Potter responded.

"Seven days in a week," Ron countered.

"He came back to power when we were all fourteen. It's a multiple, though that seems not to be the right answer," Hermione interjected.

Draco gave a shrug. "Or maybe he was just able to get ahold of seven of our yearmates. Though that seems highly unlikely. Voldmort does love his symbols."

Minerva shook her head. "We don't know enough, and we're out of spies. Predictions on his next strike?"

"Hogsmeade, next Sunday," Draco offered immediately. "We'll be expecting it, but he must have insiders in the Auror force. I know there were plenty at the Ministry."

"That's it, then. We need to have a plan of attack ready by Friday, with Hogsmeade in mind... George, I want you to do some scouting. Sniff out any traps that are already in place. Hermione, you're going to help Harry and Ron with the research they're already doing. I think tracing this spell will be incredibly important." Blaise noticed Harry and Ron exchanging guarded glances during McGonagall's speech, but thought nothing much of it. "Poppy, I want you and Severus to make batches of healing potions. Get any classes who are able to make them during lessons this week, Severus. Charlie and Draco will work on the numbering ward... Madame Hooch, I want a patrol of the Forbidden Forest for the next few nights; be on the lookout for anything unusual. Am I forgetting anything?"

Blaise lifted her hand, noticing Molly and Arthur Weasley doing the same. The professors who hadn't been named made slight nods as well. Minerva pursed her lips. "All the professors will be patrolling the halls, especially wary of the twenty-three students on the warning list — you all have it. Blaise... Molly, Arthur... you're going into hiding tomorrow." Before she could shoot to her feet in protest, Minerva shook her head. "Please, I need to be sure some people are safe. Arthur, you're next in line for Minister, if Deputy Minister Barrett dies. Molly, I'll be sending you to help with a group of at-risk children who have been in hiding since their parents were killed. You'll both go together, and take Blaise with you. And Blaise..." her voice softened, "I'm not going to let you risk that baby. It's his only heir."

Though most of the others gave confused looks in her direction, Ginny and Draco met her gaze comfortingly. Blaise sighed and buried her face in her hands. She was useless again. Same old story.

A/N: Next time — Blaise meets the Weasleys, Harry broods (again).

Role of Honour: MrSmiley4 (um... ::points wand and yells "Crucio!" before running away madly::), Karna (family feud — check out Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy beating each other senseless at the beginning of CoS), S.Maldiva (Mmm, soppy...), Swim Freak (I agree. My personal fav is Midsummer Night's Dream, though the Scottish play is close behind. And Twelfth Night.... mmmm ::grin:: But really, R&J fits the situation to a "t". it's the only one I can logically use!), Princess Tangawine (thankee ::beam::), sunnycouger (the angst is far from over. ::evil cackle::), Adele Elisabeth (I wish I were as deranged as Shakespeare!)


	24. Always Another Wound

A/N: Mmmm.... next chapter is the really morbid one, the one which caused this story to be planted firmly at a rating of R. So take a deep breath, enjoy the sappiness of this chapter, before delving deep into the bloodbath. I'll update Thursday or Friday.

Chapter Twenty-Three — Always Another Wound 

"But under skinned knees and the skid marks

Past the places where you used to learn

You howl and listen, listen and wait for the 

Echoes of angles who won't return."

-Vertical Horizon, "Everything You Want"

Sunday, November 9, 2003

Blaise crossed the infirmary hesitantly, afraid to intrude on the Weasley Moment happening at a cluster of cots. Arthur, Molly, Charlie, George, Ginny, Ron, Potter and even Professor Granger were perched in a circle — though she immediately noticed the icy glares passing between Ron and Fred's twin. Whatever the tension was, she didn't really care. She turned to flee the scene — but Ginny set eyes on her first. "Blaise, come and join us?"

She glanced over her shoulder, frozen as seven pairs of inquizitive eyes settled on her face. Finally, with a muffled moan, she started on a march of doom to the mass of Gryffindor alumni. Merely stepping into Hogwarts reminded her of her one-time allegiences to les Verts-et-Argents, the green and silver banner of Slytherin. Her greeting mumbled, she stood ackwardly to the side of the family.

Ginny scooted over to give her space, which she quickly took, clenching her hands into fists to try to ease the sick feeling in her stomach. It wasn't morning sickness, unfortunately. "I was hoping you'd show your face before you go, Blaise. I know there are a few things we all need to hear — especially George."

"I -" Blaise panicked, faced by the curious but guarded faces of her lover's family. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. They'd planned for Fred to ease them all into it slowly, once Voldemort was out of the picture. Then Fred's spying days would be over, and Blaise's Death Eater days. Fred would mention her from work... then she'd be invited to a Sunday meal, to meet the parents... and then the rest of the siblings would be introduced slowly; George first, Ron last, as he hated all Slytherins with a passion. And then they'd announce their engagement, after Ron had accepted the real love between his brother and a Slytherin girl... Oh, Fred's spying days were certainly over, now. Blaise turned to Ginny and broke into a sob of her love's name. She hadn't enough time to grieve.

"Shh," Ginny murmured, letting Blaise cry on her shoulder, rocking her like a sister. Blaise could feel their eyes on her still, even more confused now that her only words had been to call out the name of a dead brother, friend, son. "Do you want me to do it, Blaise? If it hurts too much, I understand -"

"No," she managed to choke out over the tears. "I'm doing it. He'd expect it of me." And she pulled away from Ginny's comforting hug, wiping her face with her sleeve. She pulled on the air of authority, that which she'd been trained for since her noble birth, and tried to compose herself, meeting Arthur and Molly's gazes in turn before launching into her bombshell news. "I'm pregnant with F-fred's baby. W-we were planning to marry after the war was over. It wasn't supposed to happen now. We weren't careful enough, but we both wanted a baby so much, because we knew either of us could d-die every day — and then it happened. And we went and signed the papers, but we were saving the ceremony for after the war still — and he's dead!" Blaise choked on a fresh round of sobs, pushing past them to finish talking. "He's gone, and I won't ever get to marry him the right way, but P-professor McGonagall was right. I have to go and protect myself and the baby, for Fred." Blaise gulped, waiting.

There was an expression of disbelief from Ron, unsurprisingly. Charlie and Arthur just looked shocked. Molly pained, as if a freshly-scabbed wound had been torn open, which Blaise assumed really had. Potter was distant, and Hermione was looking over to George... and him. The man with the face of her lover — he was crying. And he rose to his feet, before anyone else could force past the shock to react, and crossed the short space to her. Suddenly she was enveloped in a hug, and she sobbed in the arms that felt so familiar, and hurt so much.

Molly looked on in agony, lost as to what to do. But George decided for her. For a moment, she was afraid he was going to slug the poor woman, as he'd done to both Harry and his own little brother — but he didn't. He hugged her and cried with her, like a lost child. 

That was enough to send Molly's maternal instincts — honed by life with seven children — into overdrive. She was up from her perch on the cot and joined in the hug in mere moments, rubbing the girl — her little boy's girlfrie- wife's back soothingly. Ginny was there too, stroking the girl's hair, trying to calm her down enough to speak.

"Welcome to the family, Blaise," Molly forced herself to murmur in the girl's ear. And it was true, no matter how painful the thought of Fred growing up and being gone so quickly was. Whether she chose to take up the name and call herself Blaise Weasley or not, she was family. She was Fred's wife. And the baby would be Molly's first grandchild.

"We'll help, Blaise," she heard her husband add. He'd come over to join the sobbing group as well, looking rather ackward about the whole business. "We'll help, when the baby comes."

Molly expected George to add something in his twin's absense, but it never came. He'd stepped back and was staring at the ground dully. It was Blaise who next spoke, eyes noticeably averted from George's face. Molly couldn't imagine the girl's pain, seeing her love's duplicate. "You'd do that? They'd let me do that? Be part of the family even though there was never a wedding, and it's only real because of the papers?"

"I'm sure I can talk them into changing your name officially, too... if you want... We'll go to the Headmistress right away, before we go into hiding. How's that?" Molly slipped an arm around her daughter-in-law's shoulders, turning her toward the door and away from the still-shocked face of Ron.

Arthur followed the two, and Molly was well aware of a few angry words being exchanged as the trio left the room. She only hoped that Blaise didn't hear them.

And Sunday night found Harry alone in the Library, long after Madame Pince had ushered the last students out. Hermione had gone hours ago, James in her arms and George practically attatched to her side. Ron had followed soon after, the hurt from Hermione's change of affections almost palpable. And so he sat, alone, paging though tomes older than the Potter line.

He was neglecting his son. He knew it, and doing it hurt, but being with him hurt just as much. James looked so much like his namesake, so much like Harry, with Lily's eyes. But here and there... the cheekbone was a different shape, which screamed Rachel to his parched senses. The curls of black hair, the full eyelashes, the dimples when he smiled — they were all from Rachel. He wished James looked more like his mother. He was glad that James didn't, because every glance burned to the bone. And so the little boy had lost his father, too. Rachel was his strength. He had no more to give.

This book had nothing helpful, either. He shoved it aside, the frustration growing. He'd been here, researching for countless hours. "Nothing, nothing, nothing!" Dozens of books, tomes and manuscripts, and not a hint of a way to share power! Was there nothing out there? He needed the answers, before seven more people died because he'd lived!

Like Rachel. Just like Rachel, died because he'd failed. Sirius. His parents. Rachel. All died because he was special, he was the weapon who could destroy Voldemort's evil once and for all.

Being special wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Though really, he'd known that for twenty-two years. He was a freak, just like the Dursleys had thought. And the Dursleys were dead too. His fault. His bloody fault.

He'd put on a happy face during the daytime. He'd try to be the hero the wizarding world was so in need of. The cure was in his blood. His very blood.

But in the darkness of night, when he was alone with his thoughts, her face hung in his mind. Blaise would know how he felt — alone, but left with responsibilities after the lover's death. But she had half a dozen Weasleys to be there, to be her family and hold her and care for her. Harry had no one. Thanks to Ron, Rachel's family thought him dead. The Weasleys would've made room for one more, but then more death would follow. Death always followed him.

Death stood over his shoulder. Death took the ones he held close. He'd had enough of death. So much of death. Too much of death. And never death came to take him.

He had a knife in his pocket, for a rendezvous with death when the time came. He wanted the time to come. It could be now... but there were too many strings tying him down.

He was a Gryffindor. Gryffindors didn't take the easy way out. Gryffindors didn't choose death. The hat had offered Slytherin, but Harry had chosen Gryffindor. And so he couldn't give up. 

Sirius wouldn't give up. Rachel wouldn't give up. And so Harry didn't give up. Late into the night he worked, until he passed out at the table, slumped over a book, the dawn of November 10th.

A/N: Next time... ::drumroll:: The chapter which caused the R-rating. 

Role of Honour: sunnycouger (If I told you that, I'd have to kill you. ::grin:: Well, the tension will increase.. more... in the next chapter...), bosch (aren't they just the cutest, though? I love George. Everyone talks about Fred and George, but mostly it's FRED and george. He kinda gets the shaft), Swim Freak (Hmm, the Scottish play would be one to have fun with... there's a really amusing parody of it somewheres on the internet. But since the only couple I'm equating to Shakespeare happens to be D/G, they get R/J. See, if I really wanted to have fun, I'd get a Midsummer's Night Dream love-square going between Hermione, Ron, Blaise, and George. However, that would be a story for another time. THIS is super-angst, not romance ::wink::), Karna (Death? Death? Who needs death? ::looks back a few chapters:: Umm... forget I said that), silverarrows (An upcoming chapter is named "Wine of Friendship." I'll let you draw your own conclusions ::wink::), Princess Tangawine (How did I come up with the idea? Well, the first chapter was actually a songfic to the U2 song which became the title for the piece. Percy's murder of Dumbledore/Fudge came from a horrible dream I had after watching too many old ganster films and reading Al's "Snitch!" — which is wonderful fun. And next chapter... let's just say next chapter came in part from the movie "Quills," THE most disturbing film I've ever seen. The rest was cooking from theories I've had stowed away for a long time...), S.Maldiva (Gotta have the cuteness. Life isn't all pain — I'm attempting to portray the fact that even in the face of tragedy, there is hope and beauty and love and all those wonderful things. However, next chapter will return to seriousness), heath and sar (Thankee ::beam::), smile7499 (Nah! Ravenclaws aren't the best! Us Slytherins are clearly superior — the leaders and ruler, the movers and shakers are Slytherin. Who else would have the ambition! Although Ravenclaws are second. Oh, and Seamus is in hiding in Paris, and Dean fled to the Muggle world to become a football player. That's soccer, not the silly kind, for those who don't know), vicci (Death! Death! ::cackle::) 


	25. Someone's Son

A/N: And just because you all love hearing about my pathetic life... I've got shingles! That's right, adult chicken pox, right here! Yay for me — it itches. Grrrr. But here you go, the chapter you've all been warned about/waiting for...

****

Warning: This chapter contains violent material and is the sole reason this fic is rated R. If you find yourself disturbed by blood/gore, please skip the last section. I'm sure you'll pick it up elsewhere.

Chapter Twenty-Four — Someone's Son

"I don't think Mother Nature intended

For Charlie to leave the world today.

I don't think Mother Nature intended

For Charlie to leave the world this way."

-The Blenders, "Charlie Anyboy"

Monday, November 10, 2003

George smoothed down Hermione's hair as she slept curled up at his side. The pale light of dawn shone through the window in her bedroom, and James was still asleep in the crib she'd transfigured from a funny-looking table hidden away in one of Filch's storerooms. It was put to better use now, anyways — he didn't have a clue why someone would wish to have a table with a net across the middle of it. Ridiculous waste of space.

He crawled out of bed and pulled on a pair of boxers, padding into the front room to keep from waking either of them. His parents had left early in the morning for a safehouse in Wales, along with Mrs. Blaise Weasley. He'd wanted to scream last night — it was too much to take in. Fred had eloped with a Death Eater, and now after his death would be the father of her child. 

He thought he'd begun to recover, even if only a little. Waking up with Hermione in the room wasn't like waking up and knowing instinctively that his twin was only a few feet away. That's how it had been for twenty-five years. They'd shared a cradle, a room, a flat. They'd planned to share a wedding, but Angelina and Katie steadfastly refused. They wanted to get Angelina and Katie pregnant at around the same time too, so their kids would be as close to twins as they'd been, even if they definitely wouldn't look the same. 

And then Angelina and Katie died on the same day in the same explosion, making the finishing touches on Angelina's wedding dress. And the twins mourned together, the same way they'd had each other when the family mourned for Bill. Mourned for Harry, too — but Fred and George, Gred and Forge, they'd blamed him. 

But Fred had finally gone and taken a step without his George. Fred was a Death Eater. Fred was a spy. Fred was gone.

So what was George without his Fred? Half of a pair that had shared every joy and hardship. Half of a person. 

George picked up the paper from where an owl had delivered it — the early edition of the Daily Prophet, from its temporary headquarters in Glasgow. "Death Eaters Storm King's Alley," it proclaimed in huge type. The death toll was frightening, worse even than the Walton-on-Thames Massacre, in which Bill died. The first attack, that had been, the first Bloody Sunday. And in the wizarding world, which numbered only in the hundreds of thousands in all of Britain, the seven hundred casualties were staggering. King's Alley... was reporting two THOUSAND.

Hands shaking, the paper dropped back to the table and George fled into the bathroom, getting into the shower without taking his boxers off again and turning the water on as cold and as hard as it would go. Classes to teach. A job to do. He couldn't lose it today, despite all that had happened. He was a Gryffindor, part of the legacy of a powerful warrior of the wizarding world. He would not give up. But he shook in the icy cold water and didn't notice the tears rolling down his face.

Someone reached in and turned the water off. Blinking away the tears which clouded his gaze, he shivered as a gust of cold air blew from the bedroom. Hermione stepped into the shower and wrapped her arms around him, somehow understanding that what he needed was to be held.

A simple hug. Like Fred would've done without question. She was holding him now.

George took a shuddering breath and held her back. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"You needed me," she replied simply, rubbing her hand up and down his back in a gesture so comforting and reminicent of Molly Weasley that George had to fight down hysterical laughter. "I'm here, and I'll keep being here for as long as you want. As long as you need me."

"Blaise was right, you know. Who knows what's going to happen tomorrow? We might wake up and find You-Know-Who standing at the end of the bed. Time for carpe diem and all that. Seize the day." George shivered and huddled against Hermione's dressing gown for warmth.

She turned him toward the door, ignoring the steady drip of water down his back, and led him into the bedroom. "Isn't that what we've done? Seized the day, I mean? We'd certainly be an unlikely couple otherwise." Hermione sat him down on the edge of the bed, and summoned a towel from across the room, wringing the wetness from his hair without a second thought.

But George noticed how easily they'd fallen into the household pattern. "The broken prankster and the heart-broken scholar an unlikely couple? Perish the thought!" He slipped his arms around her waist and snuggled his face against the flannel of the tartan dressing gown. "I suppose we've seized the day, alright, but what would've become of us if we hadn't? Some might call it fate."

"Or blind luck," Hermione countered. She tossed the towel to the floor and ruffled his still-damp hair. "I don't know. At least you're kinda cute."

George put on a fake pout. "Only kinda cute? I'm hurt." He pulled her down into a playful wrestle over the sheets, which halted as suddenly as it had begun. Propping himself up on an elbow, he met her eyes, expression grave. "You're the first person I've wanted to be with, since Katie died."

"And you're the first I've trusted since Ron," she murmured, closing her eyes in a suppression of pain. He reached over to brush a curly lock of hair from her face, then gave in and pulled her body next to his, clinging tightly.

"This isn't just because I needed to forget Fred, you know. Carpe diem or not, I need you. We need each other." The last was said forcefully, as if there was a fear of rejection hidden beneath the plea.

Hermione heard it. "Healing isn't going to be a short bit of time. For either of us. This damnable war has taken so much. So many -" A choked sob cut off her words. And they held each other close.

A knock at the front door of her rooms interrupted the moment. With a resigned sigh, Hermione rose to get it, though George grabbed up his wrinkled robe from the day before and pulled it around himself to accompany her. James was fussing, so he scooped the baby into his arms as he followed Hermione around heaps of ungraded rolls of parchment to the door.

The teary-eyed girl standing in the entryway couldn't have been more than a third year. Her robes proclaimed her to be a Gryffindor. George wracked his brain for her name — Sarah? Sylvia? "Professor Granger, come quick!" she panted, sobbing loudly. 

Hermione was kneeling in front of the girl in moments. "What is it, Sadie? What's wrong?"

"Outside! By the Forest! I was out practicing on my broom before breakfast, and I saw a man in black robes dump something by the forest and he ran off and I ran down and -"

George stepped over and rested a hand on the girl's shoulder, trying to calm her and keep James quiet at the same time. "It's alright, Sadie, we can help. What did the man dump?"

Sadie, wide-eyed, looked back and forth between the two professors. "It was a body," she whispered, lip trembling before another sob. "A man — blood all over — and his arms were at funny angles — he's dead -"

Hand on her shoulder, George propelled the little girl into the front room. "Sadie, can you stay here and watch James for me? This is James Potter, isn't he cute? I need to go get help."

She nodded dully, taking the baby automatically. Grabbing shoes from just inside the door, George tossed a handful of powder into the fireplace and yelled out, "Minvera, meet me outside the front hall! It's urgent!"

"Sadie, one of us will be right back up here. Don't go anywhere, and if there's a problem, take a handful of the green powder and call into the fire for Madame Pomfrey to come to Professor Granger's room, alright?" Hermione was instructing the frightened child, her shoes already pulled on.

Leaving the door hanging open, they dashed out into the nearly deserted halls. "That's Sadie Brown, the new Chaser. She's not supposed to be out this early..."

George reached over and grabbed Hermione's hand, giving a squeeze as they approached the massive front entrance. Minerva was already standing there. "What -?"

"A body, near the Quidditch field," George reported curtly, slipping immediately into Auror mode. He pushed open the doors and squinted into the early morning light, aware of Hermione and Minerva falling into step behind him. It was a mad dash — down the path, across the Quidditch field, over to the edge of the forest.

And there, a lump of black against the green background of the grass. George sped up, reaching the bundle of cloth and flesh before Hermione and Minerva could catch up. The November morning was chill, he finally realized, as he was wearing merely a thin outer robe and boxers underneath. 

He turned the body over, hands soaked with blood merely from touching it. Glazed blue eyes stared back blankly. Ernie MacMillian. "Oh my God," he heard Hermione whisper from above him. Despite the blood and gore, the terrible death the poor sod had likely met, one thing stood out in contrast against his skin — a place where the gore had been wiped away to highlight the mark.

A lightning-bolt shaped scar was carved deeply into the dead man's forehead.

Harry was sure he wasn't supposed to have arrived at the door to the infirmary at the moment he did. But now it was too late. He'd seen it. Seen HIM, the body lying on a white-sheeted cot. The message was clear. Oh, was the message clear — ringing out like a siren.

A lightning-bolt scar carved into Ernie's forehead.

Ernie hadn't ever been one of Harry's favourite people, not since the Hufflepuff boy had accused him of being the Heir of Slytherin and out to kill Justin Finch-Fletchley during their second year of schooling. He'd been a bit of a bully sometimes, though loyal and hardworking as any bearing the Hufflepuff badge. One of the top minds in his House, Harry thought he remembered. Not like it mattered anymore. No one would remember that about his life. 

They'd most certainly remember his death.

Kidnapped. Tortured. Murdered. All to send a message. A message carved by a bucher's knife onto his very flesh. The lightning-bolt on the forehead... POTTER carved across his chest... the Dark Mark carved into his arm... It was disgusting to behold, more wretched a thing than Harry had even thought Voldemort capable of. It was monstrous.

_Kill the spare._

Harry heard the words echoing through his head. The flash of green light, the body of Cedric Diggory crumpling to the floor — that had been simple. Clean, even as it was monstrous. Sirius Black — his death just as clean. Rachel. With some, a Cruciatus or two, but nothing, NOTHING compared to the monstrosity of death and cruelty given evidence by the body lying on the cot. Brutal. Vulgar. 

Inhuman.

The whole room smelled of blood and gore. Harry was barely aware of conversations happening around him. "... classes cancelled ..." "... no students outside ..." "... guard the dormitories at night ..." "... my god, Minerva ..." Piercing shrieks, cries of anguish, sobs of grief and horror.

Harry turned and stumbled through the crowd of people, not registering who stood in his way. A hand gripped his shoulder, but he shrugged away, rushing, running full-out toward the lavatory.

Inside, he splashed water over his face, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes. He looked up in the mirror. Gaunt, haunted face — piercing green eyes — 

Lightning-bolt shaped scar.

Harry collapsed next to the toilet bowl and retched.

A/N: Next chapter — aftermath.

And before you all tell me how nasty that was... it was inspired by the movie "Quills," after which I had horrid nightmares for months. It's about the Marquis de Sade... need I say more? Right, I'm going to duck out now and hide...

Role of Honour: karna (need deaths? I hope that was enough :P), S.Maldiva (Isn't he sweet? I want one. ::sigh::), Swim Freak (I need sleep too), vicci (I AM the Slytherin Queen of Angst!), smile7499 (Slyths win! And I am one ::smile:: and soccer guys get sweaty too... but it's so much better than nasty American football...), sunnycouger (the bit about George possibly punching Blaise came from something karna said to me a while back, after I uploaded the chapter where George punches Ron. I laughed so hard I added that bit about Molly ::wink::), ljp (there will be more Draco. But there needs to be George and Harry too. Be patient, m'dear ::grin::) 


	26. In Restless Dreams

A/N: Note to self — watching all six tapes of A&E's "Pride and Prejudice" with friends Guin, BritishHistoryBuff, Flatmate, and EwanCrazy results in very, very odd quotes and very, very little sleep.

Guin (on Mr. Darcy): He's dark and brooding in some silly pants!

Flatmate (on silly names): He looks like a Crispin. (EwanCrazy: Where's his friends Snap and Crackle?)

****

Warning: This chapter contains violent material. If you find yourself disturbed by blood/gore, please skip the last section. I'm sure you'll pick it up elsewhere.

Chapter Twenty-Five — In Restless Dreams 

"And in the naked light I saw

Ten thousand people, maybe more

People talking without speaking

People hearing without listening

People writing psalms that voices never share

Noone dares disturb the sound of silence."

-Simon and Garfunkle, "Sound of Silence"

Tuesday, November 11, 2003

Harry had lost an entire day in shock over Ernie's death. Someone, probably Ron, dragged him down to his room. Or maybe it was Charlie, or George. A woman had sat there all day by his side, talking sometimes. Hermione, though he supposed Ginny might have done it. It didn't much matter. He hadn't noticed a word she'd said.

Another death hanging on his conscience. There wasn't a single word anyone could say that would make Ernie's gruesome murder not his fault. The marks on the body proved it beyond a doubt.

He'd fallen asleep after a while. Passed out, more likely. Hours of staring at a wall without seeing, without speaking, without listening was enough to drive a soul mad. And as he'd fallen asleep, after the early morning hours of Tuesday the 11th, he dreamed.

_He was sitting placidly on the edge of the lake, with James on his knee and wand in hand, tapping the wood against his knee in rhythm. James looked to be three or four years old and was happily swinging his feet in the air. "Daddy, where's Mommy?"_

"Mommy's in heaven," he found himself answering.

"Where's heaven?"

The sky darkened to showcase millions of glittering stars. He knew it was a dream, then, but there was no Voldemort invading it, no horrible deaths. "I don't know where heaven is, James. But didn't grandmum tell you how good heaven is?"

"If Mommy's there, can I go too?" Green eyes looked up at him pleadingly.

And suddenly James wasn't sitting in his lap, but sitting beside him. And he was older; older than Harry. He was another James Potter. "Gryffindors don't run away, Harry."

"It's been five years since I was a Gryffindor, Dad." But Harry looked down at himself and realized he was wearing student robes and the Gryffindor crest. He was twelve again, with the Sword of Gryffindor clasped in his hand.

"The rivalries aren't worth keeping, but the friendships and the values are. Did you know that the blood of Gryffindor flows in your veins? So does the blood of Slytherin, and Ravenclaw. And Hufflepuff too. You're hardly the only one to have claim to the blood of the Founders, though. All of that heir nonsense — what does that matter? You're special, son, and I'm proud of you." James smiled and ruffled his son's hair.

He was older again, and wearing the tuxedo he'd married Rachel in. Lily bent down to fix his bowtie and James smiled. "Dad, when am I going to see Rachel again?"

But it was Lily who answered. "Soon, honey. She's lovely. Just the kind of woman we hoped you'd find. We watched the wedding from here."

"Harold, why didn't you tell me?" He stood and stepped past his parents onto the lawn of the little house in Godric's Hollow. Rachel looked at him mournfully, her business suit covered in the dust of the two buildings whose collapse had changed his adopted country just as Voldemort's reappearance had changed the old. This was the way he'd seen her, looking frantically through the crowds to find him, and he'd been so close to telling her everything...

"I couldn't, Rach. Please, believe me. I didn't want to put you in danger."

The dream Rachel turned and pointed at the cloud of dust rising above the streets of New York City. "Never seen anything like it. God Almighty, I wish I'd never had to see this."

Harry wrapped his arms around her waist and sheltered her head against his chest. They were the only people standing on the street, watching the dust settle. "I'm a wizard, Rachel. I'm a freak. Uncle Vernon always said something bad would happen to me."

"Will James be a wizard too?" Never mind that James hadn't been born in 2001. Rachel looked up at him expectantly, brown eyes glittering with suppressed mirth.

"He might. I hope not. He'd be a freak like me."

Rachel shook her head. "I want him to be just like you. Lily and James are such wonderful people, I wish you'd told me about them... I want James to grow up in your world, where there aren't any terrorists."

"But there are, Rach. They're terrible. They come in the night in black robes and kill your family. They killed mine — both of mine." Harry set his head on his wife's shoulder.

"You can stop the terrorists of your world, Harold."

"You can stop the Death Eaters, Harry." They came simultaneously, and Harry turned to come face to face with Albus Dumbledore.

He shook his head. "I don't have magic anymore. I gave it up, and now I can't use it. You told me the spell, but I can't use it."

"There are ways to borrow magic. There are books in the library to help you." Dumbledore smiled mischeviously. "But you know that already, don't you."

Harry gestured around at the walls and isles of books in the Hogwarts Library. "Where do I look, Headmaster? I've been all over the Restricted Section. Where should I look?"

"Sharing magic is not Dark Magic,"he whispered, giving a wink, eyes twinkling in amusement. "You're looking in the wrong place. Sharing magic is the highest sort of friendship."

Harry jerked awake, snatching his glasses from the bedside table without thought. The words of an annoying Muggle movie that Rachel loved with all her heart came to mind. "_I had a dream, Auntie Em! And you were there.. and you!_"

"And I'm certainly in Oz," he grumbled, getting out of bed. Images were fading already, as they did for most dreams, but one remained. Dumbledore had come to him, to help. And Rachel, to give him strength.

Sharing magic is the highest sort of friendship.

Harry threw on a robe and dashed toward the library.

Severus Snape sat in the rain on the steps of Hagrid's hut, aware of someone walking up behind him. "Minerva?"

"I'm here," she replied, coming to kneel next to him. "You'll catch your death."

He gave a snort. "Sorry, I'm not the one who was to die in the rain today." Standing, he led Minerva around the side of the one-room house, where a bundle of black was tossed carelessly beside the bushes. Snape knelt down and pulled the black robe away from the face of the bloody body.

"Terry Boot," she whispered, turning her face away.

Severus scowled, letting the fabric rest where it fell. He'd been a Death Eater. He'd seen horrors. But this... nothing in the depths of Lucius Malfoy or MacNair or Crabbe or Goyle resided the mind that could think of this monstrosity.

Lightning-bolt scar carved into the forehead, "Potter" carved down the arm, the Dark Mark carved on the chest — and the numeral six on the man's cheek. He didn't want to consider the fact that Terry might've been alive when it was done. The mere vision of it made him want to retch.

But long years of control held him back. He yanked the robe over the dead man's face, as much for his own relief as Minerva's. "Hagrid found him here when he came outside this morning. I've taken the liberty of relocating his quarters to the guest wing."

"The last hostage dies on Sunday, Severus."

Stating the obvious. "Potter won't be ready. I saw him try to summon a book in the library. It fell off the shelf." Severus stood, unconsciously wiping his hands on his robe to take away the blood. 

"Merlin help us," Minerva murmured.

A/N: Not as bad as the last chapter, gore-wise... was it? Next time: Theories and Draco.

Role of Honour: karna (enough death for you? And there will be attacks), heath and sar (Here's answer #2 to that question of yours... 2 dead, 5 to go...), S.Maldiva (Course Voldie's melodramatic! He lived on the back of a guy's head and was reborn using the bones of his dead father. Now THAT'S melodramatic), Chad-Catsmeat (Glad you're enjoying it! I agonized over killing the characters. Especially Percy, I adore Percy. I'm sort of a Slytherin Percy — just a little less uptight), vicci (cool!), Paladin Steelbreaker (He's not a wimp, just mourning), Nicole Eve (wow. You're good), Swim Freak (::hehe::), silverarrows (here's your update!), sunnycouger (I hated Ernie. However, I just went down the list of people getting sorted in book one and chose some names. ::wink::), Evil*Fairy (more Draco next chapter), smile7499 (Ravenclaws are just fine... Slyths are better — got my 3rd slyth sorting — but Ravenclaws are nice too), MMarieC (Here's the update!)


	27. Closest to Heaven

A/N: This chapter is a bit of a departure... and if you're really good, you should be able to predict the course of the story from it. Good luck. ::wink::

Chapter Twenty-Six — Closest to Heaven

"And I'd give up forever to touch you

Cause I know that you feel me somehow

You're the closest to heaven that I've ever been

And I don't want to go home right now."

-Goo Goo Dolls, "Iris"

Tuesday, November 11, 2003

Draco stood in the doorway of the empty Potions classroom, watching Severus Snape hover over a covered body lying on the table. He looked paler and greener than ever before. "Professor?" Draco murmured, trying to keep from startling the older man.

He failed miserably. Snape dropped a glass beaker to the floor, spinning to face the door. His eyes looked dull, his hair greasier than ever, with locks of grey peppering his hair. He was midway through his fourties, and he looked closer to a hundred. The despair twisting his face was something Draco had come to know all too well. "Damnit, Draco, couldn't you knock?" The other man grimaced.

"I have the feeling the same thing would've happened. Are you ill?" He crossed the classroom to his mentor, ignoring the stench of blood and death coming from the covered body. If Snape wanted him to know, he'd be told in good time.

"Wouldn't you be ill if your job was to clean up the bodies of children for the grave?" Severus sneered, pain overwhelming his usual sarcasm. And he turned to the body, pulling down the coverlet from the face. Draco gasped in disgust, turning away from the mangled flesh. "Recognize him?"

Draco didn't have to turn back to answer. "Terry Boot. Ravenclaw. He was alive Sunday morning." He gulped, finally giving in and closing his eyes against the tears of regret threatening to come. "Shit. I left them all there to die, didn't I."

A long sigh from Snape. "Yes, you did. No one blames you for not being able to get them out."

"Because I'm not Potter. I'm just a pathetic turn-coat Malfoy. Is that it?"

There was silence as Severus turned back to the body and muttered a spell. "I don't know what he put on the knife, but the cuts won't clear up. I don't want to have to give the body back to his family like this. He was a good kid. He deserved better." 

Draco was sure Terry would've given anything to hear praise from Snape, when he'd been at Hogwarts. Fanatical, work-obessed Ravenclaw — though that was all Draco remembered about him. Five years was a long time. He turned and caught sight of a small circular mirror on the wall and winced. The haggard face of a war veteran winced back at him. It hadn't been five years... it had been fifty. "Ernie MacMillian's were like that too?"

"Yes." Snape sighed again. "I shouldn't be burying my students."

"You'll soon be burying five more," Draco murmured. His gaze was fixed on the mirror, still in shock over the affect that a few days could have. He looked so old. So defeated.

Like a light-haired version of Snape.

Draco turned away from the mirror, trying not to look at Terry's face in the process. "Does it ever stop hurting to look in the mirror? Does the guilt ever go away?"

Snape looked up from his work and gave a searching look at Draco. Finally, he bent down and pulled the coverlet over Terry's head. "Come in to my office, Draco? I have something I'm working on that I'd like you to look at. It may be important."

He shrugged indifferently. "It's not like I have anything else to be doing." And so he followed the dark figure across the cold stone dungeon and into his equally dismal office, sweeping himself into a Slytherin-green chair as Severus conjured up a pair of teacups. 

They were left sitting on the counter, forgotten, as the Head of Slytherin House walked over and snatched a parchment from his desk. "First of all, I think Divination is a load of rubbish," Snape began, moving to take the chair across from Draco. "However, certain theories within the discipline have their uses. One of those theories is the Theory of Circular Time."

"I didn't take Divination," Draco reminded him. "I don't have a bloody clue what that means."

"It bloody means what it sounds like," Severus replied with a snort of indignation. "Time moving in circles. Events repeating themselves. It doesn't mean reincarnation or any of those silly Muggle ideas — but it does suggest that grand, sweeping events in human history happen on a cycle. Usually, the cycle is hundreds of years long, but sometimes, an event happens that smashes the cycle and sends the world into a spin until the break has been corrected."

Draco pursed his lips. "That sounds like fate. Or... or a time gap, or something."

Another snort. "Or something. Yes, it is awfully like fate, or a plan. Or maybe just human nature. But whatever the case, I started to detect the beginnings of a break pattern twelve years ago."

"When Harry Potter came to school," Draco finished, giving a deep frown. 

"Yes. Potter. As far as I can tell, we truly are reinacting the first Voldemort war — the same events, the same outcomes, the same roles played by different individuals. It's a horrible thought, that we're stuck in a cycle of war every fifteen years, unless something changes." Severus slammed the parchment into Draco's hands.

His eyes flickered over the names and dates and battles scribbled on the paper. "Potter plays his father's part. James plays Harry's part. Voldemort... Granger is Lupin, Ron Weasley is Black... I'm you?" Draco snorted, a wry smirk crossing his face. "It seems rather fanciful."

With a shrug, Snape leaned back in his chair. "Yes, it does... but the parallels are remarkable. Terrible. Headmaster Dippet was murdered in much the way Albus was — by a favoured student who turned Dark. The band of Gryffindor tricksters of my time included Potter senior, while yours has Potter junior. The numbers are different, but the outcomes are still there. Only the Peter Pettigrew figure is missing to betray them — which is a part easily taken by George Weasley, if things come to that. The attack on the Ministry... that happened in 1978, as well. More died this time, but there are more people living in the wizarding world. The Ministry was taken over... we lost our media... Hogwarts was attacked and invaded by the Death Eaters, though Albus was able to hold them off."

"So... if this Theory of Circular Time is correct, what happens next?" 

Severus took back the sheet of paper. "Ginny dies. Then Potter dies in a move that doesn't eradicate Voldemort, due to George's betrayal after Ginny's death. And don't think George betraying the light is as ludicrous as it sounds. Percy did it, Peter did it — and George certainly has lost everything he lived for. Ron then goes to Azkaban after trying to murder his brother. And you, after becoming a cynical and brooding man far too old for your years, become Defense Master at Hogwarts after Hermione goes off to wallow in misery. Though I doubt she'll mirror that pathetic werewolf and become a heroin addict."

Draco stared at Snape in shock. "Ginny? But... does that mean...?"

"I had a reason for coming back to the Light too, Draco," Severus shrugged, though the expression on his face told Draco that shrugging it off was only a cover for hidden pain. "However, I hadn't been discovered as a spy and wasn't there to keep her from stepping into the line of fire."

"We have to stop it," Draco croaked, staggering to his feet in a blank shock. "How? What do I have to do?"

"Keep Ginny from going to Hogsmeade when the fighting breaks out there... then George won't be tempted to betray Potter. Potter can use the spell Albus discovered, when he's found a way to boost his magic... and Voldemort will be destroyed. For good. Cycle broken." Snape's ink-black eyes glared into Draco's, earnest with their desperation. "You MUST NOT fail, or that child finds the same fate as Harry — and you find the same misery as I."

Draco turned and fled toward the guest wing. Left alone in his office, Severus moved over to his desk and quietly opened the drawer, lifting a faded image of a smiling woman.

Ginny hummed quietly to herself as she changed the colour of the couch in the quarters she'd been assigned in the guest wing of Hogwarts. Hopefully, her stay here would be short. Harry had the spell. He'd say it, it would be done, Voldemort dead and gone — and Ginny free to return to the Burrow and set life in order. A beautiful hope, after living her adolescence in war.

She had her back to the door when it was flung open, nearly ripping it off the hinges, and nearly screamed when arms were thrown around her and she was held close. "Draco! Gods, you nearly scared me to death!" Ginny turned to face him, eyes glaring ice in her indignation at her treatment.

The frantic worry in Draco's face was enough to give her pause, however. He sought her lips in an insistant kiss, refusing to give up contact with her skin even as he pulled back to speak. "Don't go into Hogsmeade. Promise me you won't go to Hogsmeade, Ginny!"

"What? Of course I'm not going to Hogsmeade, McGonagall would have my head -" While she appreciated being showered with kisses, the frantic urgency was baffling and frightning at the same time. "Draco, what's wrong?"

Draco pulled back just long enough to peek out the door and then slam it shut again, going so far as to throw the lock manually — and Draco doing actual work was enough to worry Ginny by itself. His hands were on her again in moments, eyes meeting hers a desperate plea. "History is repeating itself. Theory of Circular Time, or something like that. Snape was showing me the parallels with the Time of Troubles. It was just terrible — Potter will die like his father did, and his kid will have to go through the horrors we did at school, and Hermione is turning into Lupin, or maybe McGonagall — GODS, did you see that robe!? And if you go into Hogsmeade when the Death Eaters attack, you'll be dead, and I can't lose you!"

"Woah. Slow down." Ginny pried his hands from her shoulders, shaking her head. "Isn't that a Divination theory? That's all just a load of bullshit."

"Damnit, the parallels are all there! I don't care if you put faith in it or not, but for the love of Aphrodite, DON'T go down to Hogsmeade!" Draco grabbed ahold of her chin lightly, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Please, Ginny — promise me you'll stay out of that battle."

"I promise," she murmured, reaching up to rest a hand on his cheek lightly. "I'm not leaving you."

His gaze was earnest. "I love you, and I don't want to know what I'd be without you." And if Ginny had any reason to doubt his statement, the eager urgency of the kisses and caresses that followed were surely enough to destroy any fear.

A/N: Next time — Harry has an answer.

Role of honour: smile7499 (I thought Harold was just funny ::wink::), Swim Freak (thankee), sunnycouger (it's 35 chapters in total — 33 plus intro/epilogue. And Harry's got plenty left to do...), S.Maldiva (The hostages are the 7 classmates who were kidnapped. They were first mentioned in chapter 15: "A Sanctuary, Safe and Strong"), ljp (thanks!), Evil*Fairy (there was your Draco!), Nicole Eve (Thanks!), silverarrows (cause I'm evil and sadistic!), MMarieC (here you go!)


	28. Jaded

A/N: Alright, it's a slightly shorter chapter than usual, but a very important one... and I don't want to take my Major Asian Religions final tomorrow morning! ::whine::

Chapter Twenty-Seven — Jaded

"Can you help me remember how to smile?

Make it somehow all seem worthwhile?

How on earth did I get so jaded?

Life's mysteries seem so faded!"

-Soul Asylum, "Runaway Train"

Wednesday, November 12, 2003

Harry didn't no how long he'd been sitting at the table in the library working. He'd skipped all meals, though a house-elf had made sure food had been delievered. His only sleep had been a few hours passed out on the table, head resting on a thick tome entitled _1001 Spells of Friendship_. Hours spent, hours wasted, hours ticking away until Doomsday — and the hint from the dream version of Dumbledore had led him nowhere. 

It had seemed so real... as if the departed Headmaster had really been reaching beyond the grave to keep Harry from failing. Rachel... and his parents... reliving the day his life changed dramatically in two sinister bursts of flame and a cloud of dust... But if it wasn't real, had all of this been in vain?

He flipped through page after page of the old book sitting in front of him, skimming for anything — ANYTHING that might help in the fight. Desperation had hit. There were thousands of books in the library... friendship... highest sort of magic... Harry tossed the book onto the massive pile of worthless ones on the floor, not caring what Madame Pince would say when she returned from chaperone duty in Ravenclaw House.

Hopping up from his chair, Harry headed over to the shelves, searching for his next book. Quidditch, hexes, magical creatures, books of wizarding law — thousands of books, thousands of possibilities, and the answer could be literally anywhere. Harry closed his eyes and pointed his wand out in front of him, giving in to desperation. "_Accio!_" he cried, almost pleading. The magic hadn't worked this morning, or yesterday, or any day since he'd failed to save his wife. There was no reason for it to work today, let alone bring the precise book he needed to his lap.

As expected, no book appeared on his lap. Harry opened his eyes and looked around. Not a thing had moved. With a growl, he pointed the wand at the closest book, and focused. "_Accio book!_"

Nothing. Not a shimmer of sparks or an inch gained. The book sat there untouched.

Harry jumped forward and tore it from the shelf in rage, tossing it across the room as if it was the book, and not his own failure, that was at the center of his anger. The next book on the shelf joined it, and he could hear Hermione's voice in his head berating him for his rough treatment of thousand year old texts. He kept grabbing books and throwing them anyways, the voice getting stronger and triggering deep guilt over the way he'd left his friends without a word in a different lifetime.

With a cry of despair, he sunk to his knees, halfheartedly tossing another book aside. Days of work, months of uncertainty, years of fear, and a decade of being a wizard — and he'd finally come undone. He could imagine steam coursing out of his ears as if he'd downed a Pepperup Potion. Harry reached out and yanked the closest book off the floor from nearby, fully intending to tear the binding in half and shred the wrinkled pages into bits.

And then he looked at the charm described on the page.

It was Latin. A short set of verses set down before him, and one jumped out at him. _Spiritum rectum innova in visceribus meis_. Renew a right spirit within me. Something seemed to click in Harry's mind, and instead of tearing the book to bits, he turned the page. _Libera me de sanguinibus, et os meum annuntiabit laudem tuam. Sacrificium Deo cor humiliatum._ Deliver me from the guilt of blood, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise. A sacrifice to God is a humble heart. 

The Latin stopped there and continued in an old English which left Harry puzzling for meaning. "_Adligare amicitae_, the Friendshippe Charm. Use ov this charme Binds the casters in Magik and Truste for the remainder of all their Lives. Powere is shared with othere efects noted by Emilio Pagliani in his Treaty on Magiks of Friendshippe. The charm wille Onlie hafe success if the casters hafe complete Truste in the Loyaltie and Love of All. One caster alone is Focuss of the Magik. He casts the spelle Alloud first, with the Other casters then casting the spelle on the Focuss. The Powere of the spelle wanes over the Period of a Day, so the Vessell of the spelle only remains the Receptacle of the Magiks of All casters for that Period. The Extra Magik dissipates after saide Day, leaving the Focuss tired and weak for a shorte Time. The Bind of Friendshippe remaines ever After, keeping the Truste and shared Powere alive," Harry read aloud, slowly. His eyes skimmed over the rest of the spell's instructions and he allowed himself a small smile of triumph.

He looked up, muttering a silent prayer of thanks to whomever gave him the burst of fortune — be it Dumbledore, his parents, or some Deity. "Damned blasted writers must've had a batch of extra e's' sitting around," he grumbled, silently pondering how he, Ron, and Hermione could still be joined in a bond of Loyaltie and Love.' Harry gave a moan and dropped his head to rest on the floor, trying not to let despair overcome once more.

There was an answer — but did enough trust and love remain to cast it?

Across the school, a mournful assembly of professors and fighters for the Light met in the teacher's lounge. With McGonagall looking pale and tired, Snape stood to address the group. "Early this morning, Madame Hooch discovered a body on the Quidditch field. It was Lisa Turpin, marked much the same as Ernie MacMillian and Terry Boot. Her cheek was etched with the numeral five."

Professor Flitwick, head of Ravenclaw House, gave a muffled moan and burried his face in his hands. Hermione nearly did the same, though she found strength to restrain herself. Three deaths in three days, each one more gruesome than the killing before. She hadn't the stomach to ask Snape just what had happened to Lisa before death, as she was sure she didn't want to know in the least.

She'd been a quiet girl. Withdrawn like many Ravenclaws. Particularly good at Transfiguration, if Hermione remembered correctly. Hermione readied herself to mourn quietly, after the meeting. 

George broke the stunned silence with the question everyone was probably afraid to ask, in Hermione's opinion. "Can we possibly be ready by Sunday?"

"He has to take Hogsmeade first," Snape reminded them all. He met Draco Malfoy's eyes especially, and Hermione thought she noticed some secret pass silently between the two, though it was beyond her as to what it was. "Voldemort cannot take Hogwarts without Hogsmeade as a base of operations. We would end up in a siege with Aurors waiting to surround the Death Eaters who were surrounding us. They'll take Hogsmeade first, trust me."

"And until then?" Professor Sinistra put in with a scowl. "We cower away? Let the students remain in their dormitories until they rot?"

"The students," Minerva interceeded, catching full attention before continuing, "will be returning home as soon as we can arrange trains to King's Cross. There are... a number of children who were orphaned since the start of term. I'm afraid they'll be staying here until we can find somewhere else to house them. And once the students are safe, we can go about making sure that no one can get in."

Ron, still saving a seat for absent Harry, spoke up. "Will we be intending to drag Harry into battle? He's... he can't do anything more than get the damned wand to spark on occasion. I was trying to help him, but he seems almost resistant to learning how to do the magic again."

"Until Mr. Potter has regained the use of his abilities, I'll not force him to face the Dark Lord," Minerva sighed, eliciting scowls from some and smiles from others around the room. "He's the last chance we have. We have food enough to last for winters to come, if the need arises. Any more questions?"

"When will Hogsmeade be attacked, Minerva?" Ginny asked quietly. Hermione noticed Malfoy leaning over to grasp her hand and tried not to make a face. George seemed to be doing the same, but was failing miserably. He only ended up looking constipated.

McGonagall glanced over to Snape who gave a deep sigh and tapped the end of his wand on the table. Heriome expected a map and schedule, but received only a tired look and a simple sentence. "Before Sunday — we don't know more."

"George, I'd appreciate it if you could go to do some scouting in Animagus form," Minerva added. "Also... as soon as the students have left, we'll have to do some reorganization..."

And the teachers and guests sat down to plan a war.

A/N: Next time — Getting the students out of Hogwarts, and complications.

Role of Honour: ljp (::squeal:: I'm honoured! And hi, Meg, welcome to the story!), heath and sar (Thanks much! There have been similar ideas in a few fantasy books I've read, but nothing as concrete, I don't believe), silverarrows (I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying! However, finals and term papers... blah...), Demeter (Yeah, Romeo and Juliet isn't the perfect love. The idea just fits well. I like the rose idea more... but when I used R&J, I just ran with it! And update "Symphonie"! I'm waiting impatiently!), sunnycouger (I actually got the theory from the end of PoA, when Harry thinks he sees his father casting a Patronus. Made me start thinking about how Harry was lots like his dad, and Hermione was a lot like Lupin, minus the whole werewolf thing... Oh, and I'll probably be staring on an D/G fic at some point. It'll probably be a Severus-centric fic, with plenty of Draco on the side. And then there's the Percy-centric one that's farther along...), S.Maldiva (Not tellin!), Seal (::laughs:: yeah, I have the same problem. Although I think people are really going to kill me when the climax is posted... maybe I should invest in a bombshelter), heath and sar (I did), babu (Thank you! ::beam::), MMarieC (Can't tell! ::evil grin::), Nicole Eve (Thank you!), vicci (I'm evil!), smile 7499 (Actually... nope. I'm not quite sure who Snape was in love with. It wasn't Lily, because Lily didn't die in the battle of Hogsmeade. I'm assuming she was a Slytherin pure-blood who was just in the wrong place. We'll call her... Miriam. Yeah), Karna (blah. Deal :p I like the twilight zone!)


	29. Never Comin' Back

A/N: I rocked that test, so in celebration... you get another chapter of Sunday! Chapter dedicated to 200th reviewer, heath and sar! You guys rock! And... here's a little bit of action!

Chapter Twenty-Eight — Never Comin' Back

"So tired that I couldn't even sleep

So many secrets I couldn't keep

Promised myself I wouldn't weep

One more promise I couldn't keep."

-Soul Asylum, "Runaway Train"

Thursday, November 13, 2003

Nobody noticed a lone fox. As students were loaded onto trains to head home after four long days of terror, George Weasley crept down alleys and between the shops and homes of Hogsmeade, looking for a clue. It looked as if Hogsmeade would be taken without a fight. Aurors had set up shop in the Three Broomsticks letting the barkeep — Madame Rosmerta's replacement — give enough alcohol to drown their fears and grief for the day. Many were his friends — and all had become mere shadows of the powerful men and women who'd graduated from Hogwarts and the other, minor schools of wizarding. They'd lost families and friends, they'd seen the aftermath of dozens of Bloody Sundays, and if George made the mistake of changing back to his human form and walking among his friends once more, he'd likely be dead in moments.

No matter McGonagall's opinion on it — George had been labelled a traitor the moment Fred and Percy's bodies were identified on the floor of Fudge's office with bullet holes in their heads. Grief was something those men and women had more than enough experience with, and if George's death deluded them into thinking they'd had some bit of revenge for the lives that had been torn from them, he was well aware of the fate that awaited him. Even hiding within the walls of Hogwarts wasn't enough. A woman who'd attended Beaubaxton, one who George had shared more than a few missions with, had sent him a letter demanding he turn himself over for trial and sentancing. He'd hidden the note from Hermione, of course, but the threat rang true.

If Harry failed to defeat Voldemort, George could only hope the death he met would be in battle, and not at the hands of his friends.

George almost missed the dark figure slipping from shadow to shadow, so wrapped up was he in thought. However, a flash of silver caught his attention. A signet ring, probably, but the night vision of the fox allowed him to follow the figure through the shadows. After only a block of pursuit, it was clear where the robed and masked Death Eater was heading — the Shrieking Shack on the edge of town.

It should've been torn down years back. George and Fred had used it for their base of operations in learning to be Animagi. George cursed himself for not thinking to check it sooner — and then turned tail and ran toward the town when a dozen black robed men slipped out of the house to join the first. 

His first destination was the train station. Hopefully, the Hogwarst Express had already pulled away with the children, but if not... there wasn't any time to waste. Voldemort's army wouldn't think twice about killing children. They probably enjoyed it.

He morphed as he ran under the gate, grabbing Snape's shoulder in panic. The dark man sneered and looked ready for an angry retort until George pointed frantically toward the town. "Death Eaters. They're using the Shrieking Shack as a base. They're attacking now."

"Use the fox to find out what's inside the Shack. Count the size of the army," Snape ordered, immediately turning to shove a few grumbling students onto the train. "On the train now! Leave your belongings if they aren't stowed, the train leaves immediately!"With a quick glance to Hermione, to assure himself she was safe here with the others, George morphed back into the fox and wove past buildings and people in the direction of the shack.

It was only moments before the Dark Mark first shone in the sky over Hogsmeade. In a panic, residents turned and ran. Some remembered themselves and disapparated with a pop, others grabbed wands to protect small children and posessions, while the last group — the squibs who couldn't protect themselves from Death Eater magic and malice — were running to try to catch the train roaring from the station.

The confusion made it harder for George to take a straight line to the shack. At the first sign of a Death Eater group blasting their way through a crowd of shoppers and drunken Aurors, he turned into an alley to hide himself. He wanted to change and fight, wanted to try to protect these people as he'd been trained to do — but the faces of the four captives remaining in the hands of the Death Eaters drove him on toward the shack. He had no way of knowing whether or not Voldemort had transferred the captives to Hogsmeade, but he had a hunch.

Screams. Flashes of green. Laughter. George raced onward, each pace taking him directly to the heart of the matter. Through alleys, then through bushes, and there! There was the shack, windows dark and door hanging open, ignored on its hinge.

He changed to human form while crouching beneath a grimy window. Cursing his Weasley-red hair, he peeked over the sill where the fox couldn't reach. Echoes of screams rang from the village — but he saw only the two Death Eaters left behind to guard, a standard configuration.

And guards meant prisoners.

George burst through the front door shouting spells, only getting grazed in the moment before the surprised guards found themselves smashed into the floorboards. He thought he recognized one from school, but set the thought aside and dashed up the single flight of stairs. There was an escape here, an escape into Hogwarts proper, known from the Marauder's Map... the entrance Voldemort was probably intending to use to infiltrate Hogwarts himself, if he hadn't already... how could he be so stupid as to not think of it before!

Three. There were only three captives lying unconscious and helpless on the second floor. That meant that one more had already met his or her death. George hadn't worked fast enough, hadn't found the truth fast enough, hadn't been fast enough — 

Setting aside the guilt, he hoisted one unconscious — bleeding? — woman over his shoulder and took the stairs down two at a time. Trapdoor flung open to reveal the tunnel to the school... he repeated the action with the other captives, making a quick search of the house and finding nothing as screams continued outside. But the screams meant that the Death Eaters were still too occupied to look for the three victims now lying in the tunnel.

He spent a few moments dragging them down to the other end of the tunnel before checking for injuries. George recognized Parvati Patil instantly — after all, Ron had taken her twin to the Ball years and years earlier. Sally-Anne Perks and Justin Finch-Fletchley were probably the other two. And that meant little, red-headed Susan Bones wouldn't be waking up tomorrow.

He pushed the thought aside. He had to. Parvati was in fairly good condition — she was probably meant to be the last to die. Sally-Anne was in the worst of shape; beaten and bruised. Justin didn't look untouched either. However, the captives all had one thing in common — all three were marked with the lightning bolt already, as if marked for death. George turned his face away.

Returning to the Hogsmeade end of the tunnel, he popped up through the trap door and, thinking about his actions for only a moment, pointed his wand at the wooden table in the center of the room. He promptly set it on fire.

Leaving the unconscious Death Eaters to their fate, he ducked back into the tunnel, closed it, sealed it, and set every ward, protection, and hex he could think of over the opening. After he and the rescued three were safely out of the tunnel, he'd collapse it.

Hosmeade was probably lost — too little, too late.

Hermione stood in the entryway of Hogwarts, directing a swarming mass of humanity toward the Great Hall. If Dumbledore had been here, he would've thought of the human factor in the equation of war, she was sure. McGonagall hadn't given a thought to the refugees who would result from the attack on Hogsmeade. And so Hermione directed them to the Great Hall, Snape and Malfoy grilled them on their Death Eater associations, and Madame Pomfrey sent them off to the emptied Hufflepuff House to crowd together until the crisis was averted.

And suddenly George was rushing at her from a side hallway, pressing his lips to hers and wrapping her in his arms. "I found them, Hermione! They were in the Shrieking Shack! Parvati and Justin and Sally-Anne Perks, they're all in the infirmary now!"

She thought she heard Snape making a derogatory remark to her left — though really, he did that most of the time — but ignored him. "That's three, George. Three dead, three recovered — where's Susan?"

"It's Thursday," Malfoy shrugged from close by, causing Hermione to step back from George to face the other man. "She's dead already. Probably closer to the school than Lisa's body was found."

"Why do you say that?" George demanded, turning on Malfoy with a glare.

Hermione rolled her eyes and tried not to compare the relationship between George and Malfoy to the one at school between Ron and the same. Despite proving himself on the field, the old blood-feud between the families wasn't to be overlooked, it seemed. 

Except by Ginny. "Oh, get off it," she growled at George, coming up between her brother and her lover, as if from nowhere. "He doesn't know anything more about the situation than you do. It's perfectly logical that Susan's body will be closer — do the math!"

"MacMillian was found nearly in the Forbidden Forest, Boot next to Hagrid's — a bit closer to the school — and then Turpin on the middle of the Quidditch pitch. Each one comes a bit closer to the goal of Hogwarts. It's as much symbolism as the marks carved all over their bodies," Malfoy finished with a shrug. "I would think an Auror would figure that much out."

Hermione's glare kept George from responding, just as Ginny reached over to whap Malfoy's shoulder to keep him from making the taunting worse. "Just drop it," Hermione commanded, pausing to make sure they'd obey before continuing. "If this is a logical progression, where will Susan's body be, Malfoy? I want to find her before some poor sod coming up from the village does."

"Whomping Willow or the greenhouses," he replied. "And I can take up your directing job here. Do you want to take care of it?"

She didn't bother to reply, already halfway out the front door, pushing against the stream of refugees, with George tagging along at her feet.

Draco was correct, George thought blankly as Hermione sobbed into his chest. This murder was more grusome than the one before, though not by much. Instead of merely killing her, they'd carved their calling card and hung her over a tree in Greenhouse One to suffocate. 

"They'll be setting up positions in the forest, probably," Hermione murmured, keeping her head turned from the sight. "We should set up patrols... maybe Ginny can stay behind to keep track of the children who are still at Hogwarts. We have plenty of adult wizards to fight now, don't we?"

He pushed away from Hermione without a response, sending off a spell to snap the rope. The body fell to the ground and George covered it with his cloak, as gently as possible. Not that she could care, anymore. One more death on his conscience.

Or maybe it was one more on Potter's. Or Malfoy's. Who was really keeping count, anymore?

Well, Voldemort was. The numeral four was carved into her cheek, a reminder of the Sunday to come. Possibly the bloodiest Sunday of all.

A/N: Next time — "Wine of Friendship"

Role of honour: heath and sar, Demeter (me? Macho? ::falls down laughing:: That'll be the day! I feel like I'm not making Harry macho enough... well, they really are stuck in the castle now...), MMarieC (Yup! The last chapter has been written. You're all going to hate me), smile7499 (cooler Harry next chapter!), vicci (you'll see... ::wink::), Karna (Look! George!), sunnycouger (Not tellin'!), S.Maldiva (Did it live up to expectation?), silverarrows (ugh. Don't say the "f" word!! Finals... ::shudder::), Drea (He is? Weird! I don't know where I came up with the heroin idea, per se. I've read several fics with Remus on drugs — really, it wouldn't surprise me in the least if he was, with 70's upbringing and all. I just took the most destructive drug I could think of off the top of my head. Plus... heroin is a cooler word than pot. ::wink::)


	30. Wine of Friendship

A/N: I just finished my 2nd final (this one a take-home) and wanted to cheer myself up a bit... so here's more of Sunday!

Chapter Twenty-Nine — Wine of Friendship

"Drink with me to days gone by

Can it be you fear to die?

Will the world remember you when you fall?

Could it be your death means nothing at all?

Is your life just one more lie?"

-Les Miserables, "Drink With Me"

Friday, November 14, 2003

Harry found Hermione in the teacher's lounge, curled up in a chair with James on her lap, much the same as they'd been on the day he'd fought with Ron. He slipped into a chair across from her and looked on silently. She'd changed, physically. He hadn't noticed it at first, being too wrapped up in his grief. She looked old, prematurely an adult because of the horror their school years had been. Most children didn't grow up until they were legally an adult — Hermione, Ron, and Harry had been forced to death with death starting at the age of eleven. What did that make them, if they were adults that early?

When he looked into the eyes of anyone who was at Hogwarts while Harry had been, he saw the same — the young faces with the eyes of an elderly man or woman, cursed to have left childhood behind because of the evil of Voldemort. He had nightmares about the last battle for Hogwarts still, even after living four years apart from it all in relative peace. If he still had nightmares, what dreams haunted those who lived in constant war?

But the solution was there, inscribed in the book resting on his lap. The only barrier between the three of them and Voldemort's demise was a simple lack of trust. "Hermione?" he called quietly, reaching over to shake her awake.

She yawned and shifted James on her lap, trying to work out the kinks of sleep. He sat back patiently and waited, knowing that it would take time to rebuild the binds of trust that had disintegrated over the years — and she needed to be fully alert for that. "What is it, Harry?" she murmured drowsily. 

"I've found the answer, but we need Ron. And we all need to talk."

As expected, Hermione was awake immediately. Her eyes glinting in excitement at the mere thought of new knowledge, Harry found himself holding James and watching her scurry to the fireplace to call Ron to the teacher's lounge. "Where did you find it?" she demanded as she retook her seat, leaning forward.

Harry tossed the book on the table. "Not the Restricted section. I found it by accident, actually. It fell off the shelf and open in my lap." Best not to tell her about the nearly destroyed library books — she always tended to get a bit uppity over abuse of books. And with her distrust of Divination... best keep the dream quiet as well.

Her eyes raked over the spell. "Trust. We have that. We were the Terrific Trio, after all. We have plenty of trust."

"We did." Harry's eyes raked over to the door, where Ron was standing, out of breath. Standing and glaring at Hermione.

For her part, Hermione looked up and over at Ron, and then met Harry's gaze with a sigh. "You're right. We did."

"What time is it?" Ron demanded, sweeping into the room with a scowl and a bright red "Cincinnati Charms" bathrobe tied snuggly about his body. "It's barely light out."

Harry gave a shrug. "It's Friday. We have two days to concoct a plan of attack. Losing sleep now means we might survive the battle." He cuddled the bundle of blankets wrapped around his son before returning Ron's frown. "You look like a yuppie with the goatee, Ron. All you need is a cell and an Armani suit."

"Well, you were a bloody lawyer! At least I was involved with something respectable!" Ron collapsed into a chair facing the empty fireplace and kicked his feet up on the table, showing off holey Chudley Canon socks and what he was wearing under the bathrobe — Golden Snitch boxers and a grubby white shirt. Hermione wrinkled her nose and looked away.

"Respectable?" Harry burst out with a laugh. "You call professional American sports respectable! How long have you been in America, Ron? Did you even bother to watch a hockey match?"

Ron gave a grunt. "I'm not a Muggle. Why would I watch a Muggle game? American Quidditch is perfectly respectable."

"Harry? The spell?" Hermione suggested, shooting a silencing glare in Ron's direction.

He gave an audible sigh at the animosity between the two who had been his best friends years ago. Their body language itself was enough to give proof to the near-hatred which had sprung up since Ron's return to England. "From what I can tell, it requires four corners and a center to cast it. The focus of the spell, the center caster, has to have complete trust in the corners. A side-effect of the casting is the surge of power which the focus has control of for a day after the beginning of the spell. Think of it... as a bowl of water. Four pitchers pour into the bowl, putting in so much water that it ultimately overflows. The extra water has to drain away until there's a balance. In this spell, the focus is the bowl and the corners are the pitchers. Make sense?" Harry looked to Ron specifically, realizing that Hermione would easily pick the concept up.

Ron shrugged. "Right. Water, magic; bowl, you. So who're the corners? What's the spell and what do I have to do?"

"It's not that simple!" Hermione broke in, managing to explain things far better than Harry could ever hope to. Though, seeing as she was a professor, he understood why. "According to the text, this power lending spell is a type of friendship charm. We have to have complete trust in each other to cast it — and once it's been cast, that's it. No second chance at it. Harry has to trust all of us, we all have to trust Harry — and each other." The look of malice she gave Ron was indicative of the amount of trust SHE currently placed in him.

He glared back, of course. "Well, he'll just have to find someone to replace you in the spell, then, won't he. God knows I'll sacrifice myself for him if I have to. It's always been that way."

Hermione gasped sharply, face a portrait of shock. "Me?" she squealed, affronted by the suggestion of distrust. "Ronald Weasley, I'm as much a friend of Harry's as you are! Just because I didn't drop everything to run around the Americas on some bloody chase doesn't mean I'm any less a friend! Twelve years I've known you, Ron, and you're still the same sodding git I met on the Hogwarts Express -!"

Harry, finally having enough of it, shot to his feet, craddling James against his chest. "Bloody hell, Mione, just stop it! You too, Ron!" he added, as Ron's face became a glow of triumph. "This certainly won't work if the two of you can't put the years back where they belong. I left. It was my fault the two of you split, my fault there was a reason for Ron to leave Britain, and my fault the Dark Lord wasn't defeated five years ago. My fault, not anyone else's!"

With a frantic shake of her head, Hermione broke in. "Harry, don't say that! It was no one's fault, certainly not yours! You weren't strong enough to defeat him then -"

"- And even if you aren't now, we've got the spell! We use that, and You-Know-Who doesn't have a chance. The power of four wizards combined into one vessel? I'm surprised it hasn't been used dozens of times before!" Ron finished for her.

And there was a moment of silence as the two ex-lovers sat contemplating what had just happened. Harry didn't speak, just waiting for the two to come to their own peace over the matter. Unsurprisingly, it was Hermione who spoke first, hesitantly. "We still have a thing or two in common, I suppose."

"I'm sorry I left the way I did. We never... really had closure or anything, did we." Ron straightened a bit in his chair, fixing the garishly coloured robe. With a glance out of the corner of his eye toward Harry, Ron muttered almost inaudibly, "'msorry." He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm sorry. About... when I walked in and acted like that. It's been four years, and I didn't have the right to expect you to wait for me and still want me."

"Why should I have waited? You do realize that the first I heard from you after you ran off was a picture in the Daily Prophet from a Minneapolis Manticores gala — with some tart hanging on your arm. That was a year and a half after I'd last seen you. What was I supposed to think, Ron?" she demanded. Her wand was in hand, tapping against her knee in a nervous gesture. "I've finally got over it. George needs me, and I need him. We're doing just fine, thank you. And if you're really and truly sorry, you'll back off and let me live my life."

Harry winced and waited for the counter argument. However... none came. Looking abashed, an incredibly uncharacteristic emotion from the Ron that Harry had grown up with, Ron rubbed the palms of his hands together and chewed on his lower lip. "Be careful with George, alright? He's probably so lost right now. Without Fred."

"Yes, he is," Hermione murmured, eyes locked on Ron. "And I promise, I won't hurt him." Another strained silence held the occupants of the room for a moment, before Hermione continued. "Well, then... who are the other corners?"

"Remus and Minerva, if they'll consent. I... did a bit of battle planning earlier on. Malfoy stays up here to keep him from having to face his mother and Voldemort. I was thinking that George could take a group of Aurors — there are a few who fled here with the other Hogsmeade refugees — and swing around to attack from the side while the five of us and as many adults who can fight go in from the front. They take on the Death Eaters, while the four corners cast the final bit of this spell and I cast Dumbledore's on Voldemort. Vortex opens, Voldemort get sucks inside, vortex closes... and poof, no more big bad wizard."

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances. Suddenly, Harry felt he could be sitting in the midst of the Gryffindor Common Room before any of their wild childhood stunts. Hermione looked skeptical and Ron looked amused and excited. "The plan seems sound enough," Hermione put in hesitantly, "but really, Harry... Big bad wizard...?"

Ron gave a snort of laughter. "Big bad wizard? I think fatherhood's gotten to the poor sod, Mione. He's been reading fairy-tales again..."

"Wizard of Oz, actually. Though a fair share of Little Red Riding Hood. That's one of Rachel's favourites, you know," Harry grinned, pushing aside the hovering darkness if only for a few hours. "Have I got some stories for you... Ron, mate, if you ever get married, stock the cabinets with pickles..."

A/N: Next time — Explanations and complications

Role of honour: silverarrows (Well, the gruesome thoughts are nearly all influenced by a combination of Quills, the evil movie, and my evil Slytherin tendencies), Nicole Eve (Thanks!), sunnycouger (Well, you'll need more tissues. Did you hear that? BUY TISSUES! I'm not telling why, however... cause I'm evil!), Evil*Fairy (poor guys. I'm glad Parvati got out, m'self. I'm a big fan of Parvati), S.Maldiva (Most of them are okay!), Amy G (Hey again, I missed your reviews! Actually, Wine of Friendship came from the song bit used in this chapter. The original title of the chapter was Drink with Me, which fits as well... has nothing to do with T.S.Eliot ::wink:: Let me know what theories you come up with, I'd be interested to see who can guess my plans!), Jam-jackson (ooooh, questions! Alright, here's as much info as I can give out... 1. Snape's Ginny is an OC who I affectionately refer to as "Miriam." Really, the only important bit is that she existed, and Snape failed to save her. 2. Hermione's Lupin, not Lily. And Pettigrew was not in love with Lupin!! That's what would save George, if Harry was to fail and Ginny die — his love for Hermione would keep him from sinking too Dark. Although... that's not what's gonna happen... 3. Next chapter will answer that. 4. I was hesitant to bring the WTC attack into this at first, but the parallels became too much for me to bear. As the story goes for me, Rachel worked near the tower, as did Lawyer!Harry. Voldie may've been involved. Were I to write something about wizarding America, I'd certainly connect it... but I think it would be politically unwise, at the moment...), smile7499 (Glad you're enjoying it! I hope you stay on for the next bit I write, which will be quite different from this one...), heath and sar (Here it is!), Karna (Go Ginny!)


	31. Right the Wrongs

A/N: Just finished another test and saw fit to post this! Enjoy!

Chapter Thirty — Right the Wrongs

"Arise our hero

Judah save us, Judah save us!

Prize so dear, victory gave us

Freedom gave us truth!"

-Peter, Paul, and Mary, "Hayo Haya"

Saturday, November 15, 2003

Early on Saturday morning, the preparations for battle had begun. Only half a dozen children remained at Hogwarts, though a group of refugees the size of Hufflepuff House had taken over the school. The teachers patrolled the hallways and planned offensive tactics with the witches and wizards willing to aide in the final battle. Madame Pomfrey gained Ginny Weasley's help in stocking the infirmary. The charms and wards on the building were finally completed, dampening magic in all but a few select rooms, to keep an attack from taking them all by surprise. 

And in a small conference room, the corners and center of the spell sat down to work. A projected map of the Hogwarts campus was displayed atop the table, and Minerva paced, pointing at features as she went. "He won't want to battle on the Quidditch field, too open. He could come out of the forest, right? Over to this field near the lake... but the lake is full of our allies, the merpeople would destroy any Death Eaters who fell in..."

Harry was drumming his fingertips on the table as McGonagall paced, while Hermione played with James, Ron spun his chair in circles, and Remus Lupin glared at Harry's noisy fingers in aggitation. Hours of planning had produced only a few ideas and no certainties. "Did Riddle play Quidditch?" Harry asked quietly.

Minerva stopped short, jerking around to face him. "I... I don't know. I was born while he was at school here. Albus would've known." She winced, as if it was her fault that Dumbledore was no longer able to impart his knowledge. 

"Hermione, why don't you go down to the trophy room and check the Quidditch plaques for the fourties and fifties?" Harry asked. "I've got a theory."

"I'll go," McGonagall countered. "I can't stay here any longer. Waiting is driving me to the brink of insanity." She spun on her heel and stalked out of the room, though not before grabbing the back of Ron's chair and hissing out, "If you don't stop spinning in that sodding chair, it's ten points from Gryffindor!"

Ron watched her receding back and the slamming door of the conference room with a bewildered look on his face. "Did she just threaten to take points?"

"Did she just say sodding'?" Lupin countered. "I've never heard her say that before. Bloody hell, I've never heard her say bloody' before!"

Harry rolled his eyes and leaned over to keep James from rolling off the table. "Everyone says bloody.' Except Americans, and they're certainly an odd lot. Hermione, how much have you been feeding my son? He'll be as heavy as Dudley by the time you're through with him!"

She stuck her tongue out at him in as immature a manner as she could muster and dragged the boy into her lap. "You certainly weren't looking after him. And since Ron got sick of playing babysitter, guess who's taken the place of surrogate Mum?" she shot back rather nastily.

At Harry's wince, she started to apologize — but he beat her to it. "Mione, I'm sorry about that. You've been doing such a wonderful job. If I'd known you didn't want to -"

"Harold James Potter, not another word. He's absolutely adorable and better behaved than any child of a Weasley would be. I'm just worried about you both." Hermione shifted the baby in her arms, tickling his sides gently.

"James doesn't have a godmother. Be his godmother?" Harry burst out, shocking even himself with the abrupt request. "He didn't have one, before," he felt compelled to explain, "mostly because of what happened to Sirius. I was afraid that Rach and I would die and it would happen all over again, though it really seems like a load of bullshit -"

It was Hermione's turn to wince. "I'll do it. Gladly. Just... why now? What made you bring it up?"

Harry shrugged. "Tomorrow, I face off with Voldemort. There's no guarantee that any of us will survive." Ron paled a bit at the statement and looked down at his hands, followed by an uncomfortable grunt from Remus. And then there was a thick silence, the severity of their situation dampening any happiness or nervousness that might have resulted from the request in any other time.

"Need some help?" a new voice asked from the doorway. George shot a hesitant glance in his brother's direction before slipping over to take a seat next to Hermione. "There's not much to do out there that someone's not already doing. A few of the Aurors are off getting the older residents up to par on their curses, but they refuse to let me near them. Not that I'm surprised."

Hermione shot him a questioning look, but he shook his head. Before she could press the issue, Harry jumped in. "We're just trying to decide where Voldemort will likely attack. Minerva's checking a few things out. Until then... Professor Lupin, what have you been doing since Sir- um, since I left?"

Lupin paled slightly at the mention of his friend, but shook it off. "I've been teaching Defensive Magic at Beaubaxton. Madame Hagrid sent me up as soon as she heard the news. About you, I mean."

"Madame Hagrid?" Harry glanced around blankly.

"You were gone," George offered, pulling James into his lap. The baby squealed and waved his fists around happily. "Hagrid and Madame Maxine married. He Apparates over to France after hours. Or he would, if we weren't under siege here. We ARE under siege, correct?"

Harry stared at George blankly. "He- Hagrid got married?"

"Yes, George, we're under siege," Remus finished, rolling his eyes at Harry. "Honestly, Harry, you haven't bothered to talk to Hagrid since you returned, have you!"

"He won't speak to me." Harry shrugged and turned back to business. "Madame Hooch nearly got hexed off her broom while she was flying patrol over the Forbidden Forest this morning," he continued, as if he hadn't just proclaimed that one of his closest friends refused to look him in the eye. "Since the tunnel from the Shrieking Shack was closed up, I assume the others were too?"

George gave a start, glancing at Lupin for help. "The... Honeydukes' tunnel? Please, tell me someone remembered that one? It exits near -"

"The Trophy Room," Hermione finished, a look of horror spreading across her face. "They're going to try to take Hogwarts through the tunnel."

"And Minerva's there now," Remus added, launching himself to his feet and out the door. Within moments, Harry found himself abandoned, wand lying uselessly on the table. No magic, no help. He sunk deeper into despair, despite the child smiling up at him.

By the time Remus reached the hall, he could hear the shouts and screams. Had they misjudged that much? He caught sight of several black-robed figures clustered outside of the Trophy Room and heard shouts of spells. He thought he heard Minerva's voice shouting back, but couldn't see her in the mass of people.

There were residents of Hogsmeade there, too, fighting alongside McGonagall. George dodged around Lupin and shouted a spell at a Death Eater immediately, plunging into the fight as his Auror training demanded. The force of Death Eaters didn't seem to be growing any smaller, nor did the number of defenders decrease.

And then Remus remembered. Magic dampener on the hallways. He dashed forward and punched the nearest hooded figure in the face, sending the man toppling to the ground due to the extra strength given to him by his curse. There was a moment of confusion, and three more downed Death Eaters, before everyone caught on to what he was doing. 

In mere moments, the attack had become a fist fight little more coherent than a bar brawl. He lost track of whom he was punching and how many were rolling on the ground in pain from his werewolf enhanced strength. There was a familiar voice calling orders from nearby. Pushing his way through the crowd, Remus pulled abreast of Minerva. "Where'd they come through? Only wands as weapons?"

"It was the Honeydukes' tunnel, Minerva, I forgot about it completely," Lupin apologized. "If there are any other weapons, they haven't been used." He shoved a Death Eater away, putting his bulk between the enemy and the Headmistress.

With the Death Eater knocked away, he had a moment to try to see how the battle was proceeding. It was chaos — dozens of people smashed into a corridor which should normally hold only a few students, all fighting for their lives. There were too many people wearing black, and he couldn't tell whether they were Death Eaters or defenders. Lupin noticed George and Hermione fighting side by side before forcing his attention back to the Death Eaters near to him. With each man who fell, it seemed a dozen took his place, a seething mass of hooded black robes swarming from the tunnel.

Lupin pushed forward, toward the tunnel exit, in hopes to shut it before another round of combatants could emerge. His way seemed too easy, until he realized Minerva was at his side, helping him push through the punches and duck the attacks. Remus found himself slammed face-first into the wall and elbowed his attacker in the ribs, only to look up and catch sight of another Death Eater slipping out of the tunnel.

A Death Eater holding what looked suspiciously like a Muggle handgun.

The Death Eater swerved and pointed the weapon at the nearest defender, and Remus watched in shock as the man crumpled to the ground after a loud explosion. There was a scream from somewhere and Remus threw himself at the Death Eater, stopping him his only objective. 

But someone else saw him first. He felt someone grab him around the middle and throw him to the ground, and looked up into a blank-faced Death Eater mask. He spared only a moment's glance before looking over to the cloaked figure with the gun.

The gun fired again and Remus yelled in pain as something lodged in his gut, something that burned like fire. He stared at the barrel of the gun in sheer panic as the Death Eater steadied his arm to fire again.

A/N: haha, cliffie! ::ahem:: Right. Next chapter: Preparations and goodbyes.

Role of honour: sunnycouger (::clears throat:: Umm... right, about Remus... heh ::sheepish grin::), silverarrows (G/D action, next chapter), heath and sar (Had to have the calm before the storm, of course!), smile7499 (Action! Nuff for you?), Cheddar (::grin:: These are all my favourite songs and groups. After the intro was a songfic of sorts, I couldn't help but continue the tradition!), S.Maldiva (Harry as a Daddy IS cute. Look for more next chapter!), Evil*Fairy (Yeah, I agree with the whole cliché-ness. However little I like Ron... it was that or have everyone killed by Voldie! Frankly, I'm a H/Hr and G/D shipper all the way. However, H/Hr needed to be passed over to complete this little bunny. I have the feeling one of my next ones will be H/Hr though...), Karna (Next chapter will answer that), Jam-jackson (Questions are good! And actually, Miriam is a Biblical name, the sister of Moses. And, by the way, my very favourite female name in the whole wide world!), ljp (more about the trust next chapter).


	32. The Show Must Go On

A/N: Well, the reaction to THAT chapter was so immediate... that I decided to post another today! Have fun, and guess the ending.

Chapter Thirty-One — The Show Must Go On

"On and on - does anybody know what we are living for?

The show must go on, the show must go on.

Outside the dawn is breaking on the stage 

That holds our final destiny!"

-Moulin Rouge, "The Show Must Go On"

Saturday, November 15, 2003

A flash of green bolted forward as someone wearing emerald robes threw herself at the armed Death Eater. The crack of thunder which heralded the firing of the gun rang out again through the hallway, and the figure slumped forward, inertia sending her sprawling over the gun-holding arm of the masked man. As Remus watched, she reached up slowly, hands clawing the mask out of place.

Remus recognized the frightened face of the man staring horror at the green-robed woman. Goyle, a boy he'd taugh in the short year spent as a Hogwarts professor. The severe bun finally gave the identity of the green-robed figure — Minerva McGonagall.

For a moment in time, the two stared at each other. And then the horror on Goyle's face shirted into white hot rage. He let out a shout of triumph and the thunderous noise of the gun firing rang out again. Minerva sank to the ground.

Werewolf and headmistress met gazes for only a moment before Goyle trained the gun on her again. Still screaming his hate, he fired again and again, and Remus watched as the life left Minerva's eyes for good. And then Goyle pulled his mask back on, shouted for the others to follow, and disappeared down the tunnel once more.

Remus heard a scream and more shouting in the cacophany of fleeing Death Eaters, but remained focused on Minerva's body. Despite blood flowing from his own wound, he scooted hismself across the floor and reached over with hand shaking from fatigue to close her eyes. Only then, when the body of the headmistress and friend had been treated with dignity, did he allow himself to collapse to the ground completely. He sunk into darkness.

"How did it happen?" Hermione murmured, though the question wasn't meant to be answered. George wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, letting his own tears come. "We should've thought of the tunnels! We used them often enough — you used them often enough! Why didn't anyone think to close up all the tunnels?!"

"Hermione, we couldn't have known," George whispered back, holding her and forcing himself to look away from the body of the headmistress.

"Lupin's not dead," Ron offered helpfully.

This merely sent Hermione into another round of self-blame. "He's not dead, but he has a hole in his gut! We're dead! We're all dead tomorrow morning, because none of us were smart enough to think of what You-Know-Who might be up to!"

Severus Snape gave a snort of indignation, rising from his seat beside the body. "Losing Minerva isn't the end, Miss Granger," he shot, ever bit as nasty as he'd been in every Potions lesson of their school days. Only the stoop of his shoulders, bits of grey at his temples, and the dulled look of his pitch black eyes told the world of his grief. "We'll go out tomorrow and face Voldemort," he spat the name, daring anyone present to cringe, "and we'll win it."

"Without Minerva and with Remus too badly injured to fight, who helps with the spell for Harry?" Hermione shot back. "He's got less magic than a Squib at the moment! If we had months, maybe years to train him back up, maybe we'd have a chance — but there are too many factors working against us! Harry can't cast the spell, no one else can, the spell has to be cast at the same moment as an Avada Kedavra and with more force — Gods above, Severus, we're dead!"

"I'm sitting right here," Harry snapped, pushing away from Remus' bed. "There's no need to talk about me like I'm still in Cincinnati. And I'm NOT a Squib, I can feel the magic, I just can't harness it the way I used to! Someone else will just have to take the corners. We've got a few hours, we can sort things out! And tomorrow night, after Voldemort's gone for good, we'll have a nice cry about everything we've lost, alright? We're running out of time!"

George sighed softly, taking in the tense postures of everyone in the room. "Is there something I can do? I know I'd never be the first choice for this spell of yours, Potter, but if I can help in any way...?"

"Do you trust me?" Harry replied quickly.

"What?" George scowled, pursing his lips.

Harry gave a snort. "Do you trust me?" he repeated. "Without trust, a friendship spell won't work. Do you trust me to be the same Harry Potter I was when you were a seventh year? Can you trust me the way you'd trust Harry Potter the Gryffindor Seeker? Can you forgive me for making a mistake?"

"I can't forget the last five years," he murmured back, "but it wasn't your fault that any of this happened. I wish you'd been around, but I doubt your presence would've saved Fred's life. After all," he added with a sneer, "it wasn't Voldemort who killed my brothers."

"You'll take Minerva's place," Harry confirmed. "Profess- Headmaster Snape, would you take Lupin's place?"

Snape winced visibly at the title and shook his head. "Minerva shouldn't have accepted, and neither can I. The castle wards are hinging on my magic now. I'm not as powerful a mage as Albus was, and maintaining the wards under magical attack is going to drain me much more quickly than I'd like to admit," he scowled darkly. "I won't have the magic to add to it."

Harry and Hermione met gazes, both appearing ready to give up completely. Despite the dozens of witches and wizards in the castle, none immediately came to mind whom all could trust. Snape's mouth suddenly curved into a smirk. "However... though I won't take the position... I think I know of one who might..."

"You're going to do WHAT?" Ginny demanded, eyes burning with rage as she glared at her lover.

He shrunk back slightly, giving a wince. "Ginny, calm down. They need me. It's not as if I haven't been walking in danger since I turned sides — hell, I've been in danger since Voldemort was resurrected." He gave a sneer. "I never would've guessed that Potter would call on me for a friendship spell, of anything, but I won't let Snape down."

"So you're doing it for Snape?" she snapped, throwing herself into a padded chair in front of the teacher's lounge fire in a sulk. "That's got to be the most pathetic excuse -"

"Oh, and what do you want me to be doing this for? For Potter? Granger? Sorry if I don't give a damn what happens to either of them in the end — all that matters is getting rid of Voldemort! I wouldn't have volunteered for this, but I certainly didn't intend to stay back here in the castle! I've got magic, I've got inside knowledge, and by Merlin I'm going to use it!" Draco snapped back, equally as livid with rage as his counterpart. He stalked in front of the fire, scowling darkly at the woman seated stiffly nearby.

Ginny gave a snort and kicked at a table leg. "You'll go out and fight, but you expect me to stay back here and help out? Typical man."

Draco sneered. "And you want to throw yourself in front of the nearest Death Eater and wait to be run down. Typical Gryffindor." As she launched herself to her feet in a rage, he held up his hand. "Please, Gin, let's not do this. You're needed behind the lines as much as I'm needed by Potter in the front. Snape needs you to be there in case his magic fails. You know how to do that, and I don't. I do, however, know how to cast a simple friendship charm and I have plenty of magic to offer for Potter's use. He can drain it all, so long as it gets rid of Voldemort."

The anger left Ginny's frame and she slumped slightly, letting out a sigh. "Please be careful, Draco. I can't lose you. I've already lost everyone else."

Draco stepped forward and welcomed her into his embrace. "When this is all over, let's get away from here, alright? Tomorrow, when you're keeping the wards intact, visualize sleeping out on a beach on the Riviera with a little Mai Tai with a green umbrella in it and waves lapping over your feet. We'll drop everything and go. We'll be there next weekend. I promise."

"What time tomorrow, Draco?" she murmured, tightening her grip on him as if unwilling to let him go.

"We're going out at dawn," he replied, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. "It'll be over before lunch, one way or another."

Hermione and George were off spending their last night together. Ron had gone off to help Madame Pomfrey with the survivors of the Death Eater kidnappings — Harry privately thought he was off to comfort Parvati more than Justin or Anne. Draco was off with Ginny, and Merlin only knew what Snape was up to. And that left Harry alone with his son, sitting silently in front of the fire in the room he'd been assigned.

He rocked James in his arms, singing the baby to sleep with words he'd heard Rachel use more than once, his eyes fixed on a small Muggle photo he kept in his wallet. He and Rachel smiled at each other in their wedding finery, frozen forever in time. "Your mum was perfect," he murmured as the song ended and the child blinked up at him sleepily. "She was everything I'd ever dreamed of. And more. Her family was mine, she held me close when I had a nightmare — and believe me, I had many. She never asked much about what happened to me, but I think she knew. She knew what my life here must've been like." Harry brushed his fingers through the soft black curls of his son's hair. "I miss her," he whispered, leaning down to kiss the baby's forehead lightly.

The child finally dozed off, and Harry tucked him away in his crib. He watched James in his innocent slumber before slipping over to the desk and drawing out a piece of parchment and a quill. An envelope was also deposited on the table and Harry tucked his wedding photo into it before scribbling "James Sirius Potter" across the front. With that finished, he set it aside, smoothed the blank parchment, and began to write.

__

My Dearest Son,

The time for the final battle grows shorter, and I wanted to take the time to tell you about who you are and what the legacy of your family is, before I step into the line of fire. Many years ago, on the night of October 31, 1981, a very evil wizard appeared on the doorstep of my childhood home and committed the act which would forever mark my life, and my soul...

"Drink with me to days gone by

Can it be you fear to die?

Will the world remember you when you fall?

Could it be your death means nothing at all?

Is your life just one more lie?"

-Les Miserables, "Drink With Me"

A/N: Next time - Sunday morning.

Role of Honour: heath and sar (am I evil? ::grin::), S.Maldiva (well, Percy used one earlier... I expect for half-Muggle Tom Riddle, the ends justify the means), josephine (he's not dead!), karna (Everyone involved would know who he was, though... Draco's the son of the man who passed on the diary in bk 2, Ginny's the one who used it, so her family would know, Harry solved the mystery, and Hermione was in on it... everyone involved at Hogwarts would be well aware of who Tom Riddle really was), silverarrows (here's to your sanity!), vicci (thank you!), smile7499 (And more action next time... ::evil, evil grin::), Princess Tangawine (See? Lupin's not dead! Well... poor Minerva.), Kichigai kimita (hehe), Pathetic Invader (Nice name. ::snicker:: and actually, the entire story is done... just not posted yet...), sunnycouger (soon enough for ya?), Jam-jackson (hopefully it's less confusing as the end approaches!)


	33. Blood of the Innocent

A/N: No more stats!!! No more school for the year! I'm going home in 10 hours!!! And to celebrate... another chapter! And guess what? After this... no more Shakespeare quotes! ::listens to cheering from the peanut gallery:: I have to warn you all, I'm pretty sure you wont' all love how this ends... just know that it was the way it was planned from the very beginning. Well, I'll see you on the other side...

Chapter Thirty-Two — Blood of the Innocent 

"Can you hear the voice of the children? 

Softly pleading the silence in a shattered world? 

Angry gods preach a gospel full of hate, 

Blood of the innocent on their hands."

-Cantus, "Prayer of the Children"

Sunday, November 16

"I don't think a sunrise has been more red," Ginny murmured, burying her face in Draco's robes.

"What, no Shakespeare quotes? _Look, love, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east_. I can't remember act and scene, but that damned play gets more and more true to life with every passing moment." With a sigh, he pulled himself away from Ginny and started pacing the length of the nearly empty infirmary, waiting for Headmaster Snape to appear and call them to battle. The night had been far too short. No one had slept.

Ginny remained perched on the edge of one of the infirmary beds, her chin balanced on the heel of her hand. "Please, don't quote any more from Romeo and Juliet. We're getting too close to the end of the story."

He gave a snort, halting in his tracks to send a sneer in her direction. "Really, Ginny, it's ridiculous to assume we'll both come back alive. God only knows how many Death Eaters will be out there at Voldemort's side, LEAST of all my mother! We're not just talking about a blood feud between our families, Gin, we're talking about full-fledged war! Sometimes there isn't a happy ending!"

"So you're going to walk out into battle assuming you'll die!? That's certainly conducive to a winning strategy, now isn't it!" Ginny glared across the infirmary at him, taking her feet swiftly, face burning crimson in anger. "I'm not just going to stand at the back of the fight and pretend that I'm helping by guarding the doors of Hogwarts! I refuse to hang back just so you'll feel better about it!"

"What do you want to do, die by my side? This isn't a fucking romance novel, it's war! Like it or not, Minerva McGonagall is dead and Remus Lupin is tucked away in the back room fighting to stay alive because of some sodding Muggle weapon! Because of that, I've got to throw myself in the middle of some damned fool spell which will make me a prime target for all Death Eaters — on top of the fact that I killed one of their lieutenants while trying to escape, AND I was a spy! The only person I'll be standing nearby on the battlefield is Potter! The only thing that'll draw more attention to him is a bloody flashing arrow!" He turned and kicked at the leg of a bed and missed, sending himself sprawling across the white linens. With a gruff snarl, he shoved himself up from the bed and turned to find himself eye to eye with Ginny.

"I don't want to fight anymore, Draco." He could see it in her eyes — acceptance of the danger, the realization that neither of them would likely see Monday's dawning, or even Sunday's dusk. 

Draco pulled her to him in a tight embrace. Over her shoulder, he saw Severus standing at the door, glancing away to give the couple a last moment of privacy. "I have to go, love. It's time to do the spell. Please, Ginny, promise me... just don't let them bury me in the Malfoy cemetary. I'm not one of them." He leaned down and kissed her cheek softly.

With a moan of despair, she threw her arms around his shoulders and lapsed back into the verses she loved most. "_Farewell! I will omit no opportunity that may convey my greetings, love, to thee."_

"_O, think'st thou we shall ever meet again?_" he whispered back, mindful of Snape's watchful gaze.

And even though he knew the response, it brought a smile of hope. "_I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve for sweet discourses in our times to come._" She tipped her face up for a last kiss before stepping back to watch him go. "I love you."

"I love you, Ginny." He turned away and nodded to Headmaster Snape, following the dark man from the room. The task was ahead, but the only thing he could focus on was the next set of verses. _O God, I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see thee, now thou art so low, as one dead in the bottom of a tomb._

"I thought you were going to back out on us there, Malfoy," Harry joked, though the stiffness of his smile showed just how worried he'd been about his ex-rival's participation. Hermione shared a nervous glance with George, but the decision had already been made. Either this worked and Harry had magic to use, or it didn't and Voldemort was the victor. 

"Are you ready, Harry?" Ron shot in, twirling his wand between his fingers. The goatee was shaved, the unnecessary glasses were probably in a wastebin somewhere between Ron's temporary quarters and the meeting room the six heroes were currently clustered in, and he looked remarkably like the seventeen-year-old boy who'd stood beside Harry and Hermione on the last, terrible day of their Hogwarts schooling.

Hermione shook away the memories and tapped her wand against her leg nervously. "Harry... do you have enough magic to trigger the start of the spell? I mean, we haven't really thought about that, have we?"

Very calmly, as if he'd anticipated the question, Harry pointed his wand at a bench in the corner of the room. "_Accio_ parchment." And, though its trajectory was wobbly and slow, the little piece of paper made its way into Harry's hand. "You see? Not a Squib. Can we get on with this? I'm not sure when Voldemort will make his attack..." He flickered a glance over to Snape, who was looming in the doorway.

If Snape was anything, he was good at looming menacingly. "One of the Aurors on watch thought he saw movement on the path from Hogsmeade. I've no doubt they're massing for an immediate attack. There are half a dozen Aurors in the front hall awaiting the first wave of troops."

"What happens if Vo -" George tried to say it, but gave a wince and a sigh of resignation. "You-Know-Who doesn't come forward? What if he lets the Death Eaters take out one of the Corners of the spell?"

Harry shook his head before Snape could make a sound. "Not a chance. He knows I've got no control over my magic, and he'll expect I'm only there as a figurehead. He'll be at the forefront the moment I show face. Or, rather, scar." He gave a tight, humorless smile to those assembled before raising his wand into the air. "Well, we're ready?"

If Hermione had expected ceremony, there was none. After he'd met each of their eyes, Harry turned his wand on himself and murmured the words of the ancient spell. "_Adligare amicitae_." There was no spark of light, nothing to suggest that the spell had begun to take effect. But, Hermione mused, that might actually be a part of the spell — the corners had to trust that the center could do it.

One by one, the four corners moved over to stand before Harry, pressing his or her wand over the man's heart and whispering the incantation. Hermione, last, stepped back and waited for a response. Finally, he pointed his wand over to the table in the corner again. 

"_Accio_ book." A nondescript spellbook came whizzing through the air as fast as he'd ever been able to do the trick. Hermione felt the slight drain on her magical reserve as the spell was cast, but grinned broadly anyways. It hadn't all been for nought, then.

And then a shout echoed down the halls. "Headmaster! The first wave's advancing down the road from Hogsmeade — twenty men or more!"

Snape turned and locked gazes with Harry, ignoring the other four fighters in the room. "This is it, Potter."

With a curt nod he stood, the Corners following in a nearly identical motion. Harry stepped forward and offered his hand to his least favourite ex-Professor, face as impassive as the new Headmaster's. "It's been a pleasure, sir."

Snape grasped his hand for a short moment. "Good luck, Harry. I... Black would be proud, you know."

"I know." The importance of the remark wasn't lost on Hermione. She gaped silently at the professor, well aware of the rivalry which had existed between Snape and Harry's deceased godfather. For just a moment, Hermione wondered if Snape was privy to some bit of information about the outcome of the fight, but she pushed the notion aside as the corner of Harry's mouth quirked into a smile. "Good-bye, Severus. Don't let them do anything silly."

Snape nodded and stood aside to let Harry pass. There seemed to be something almost — but not quite — compassionate in his eyes as he met Hermione's. And then the meeting of their gazes was broken as George nudged her out into the hall and they fell into a formation around Harry. Severus knew. He'd Seen — of that, Hermione was certain.

Harry was barely aware of the formation the four Corners of the spell had taken to surround him protectively. Ron and Draco led — it was almost disturbing to watch the sworn enemies marching to battle, side by side. He could hear Hermione and George talking softly behind him, but pushed any notions of eavesdropping from his mind. They needed the next few moments together because only God knew if they'd get another.

Rachel hadn't.

A man in the uniform of an Auror came hurrying up, shoving his way between Ron and Draco to speak to the hero of the hour himself. Harry wasn't sure who'd died and made him general. The scar would've only set him apart more had it been glowing neon in the dark. "Potter, sir, we've sent out the first wing of attackers. They're not trying to keep the battle on the Quidditch field, like Headmaster Snape suggested."

"How far out do the main protective wards extend? Are they just beyond the edges?" Harry glanced around to take stock of the witches and wizards crowded in the Great Hall and around the massive front doors of the school. No longer a school — a fortress. They looked frightened but determined and, like the presidents and generals he'd learned about as a fledgling American lawyer, Harry met the eyes of each, trying to instill the courage of Gryffindor. A few gave nervous smiles back. One haggard looking wizard saluted and a young woman blushed and looked away.

"Yes, sir," the Auror was saying. "Wards to where the Death Eaters are clustered. You'll see when the second wave is sent out. I think HE's out there." He didn't have to be named to be understood.

Harry frowned and exchanged glances with Draco, who rubbed at his left arm and nodded his agreement with the Auror. "Mark's been fine since I escaped the Manor, until just a moment ago. It's burning terribly now."

"You'll be alright?" Harry asked cautiously. Though no longer an enemy, and certainly trusted enough to make the friendship charm work, he still wasn't sure how to address or how much to worry for Malfoy.

"Yeah," Draco murmured, dropping his arm and clutching his wand tightly. "You know me, the Slytherin with a Gryffindor streak for courageous stupidity."

Ron glowered darkly and Harry heard George and Hermione making protests behind him, but he merely gave a snort, a smirk, and clapped Draco on the shoulder. "That would make me the Gryffindor with a Slytherin streak for strategic retreat, then?"

Draco's eyes widened in shock before his face split into a wide grin. "Why Potter, if I'd known you had a sense of humour, maybe we would've gotten along for all those years!"

Harry gave a snort of disbelief but grinned back anyways before turning to address the Auror once more. "Let's do it, then." The four and their Center moved forward to stand just behind the doors and, in a move carefully choreographed by Snape, dashed out into the fray the moment the doors were swung wide.

He'd never been in a wizarding battle before. His instincts were to shoot a curse at anyone who passed in front of him, but the need to preserve every drop of magical power for the final duel with Voldemort kept Harry from doing more than dodging the hexes shot in his direction. Ron, Draco, George, and Hermione formed a fairly neat shield as they rushed across the makeshift battlefield of the front lawn to find Voldemort.

Harry dodged a curse and tripped over a body, forcing himself to look away as George dashed up and dragged him back to his feet. The man's face was unfamiliar to Harry — but it seemed at least the blood of one had been spilt on the grass of Hogwarts. Left without a moment to mourn, he retook his position in the center of the group and ran on.

And then, they seemed to be in the midst of the Death Eater masses. He heard the Corners shouting spells, saw the bodies dropping, but knew each of them to be safe. The precious extra magic was still there, within reach. 

"My, my... Harry Potter... I was wondering when you'd deem yourself worthy to join our little battle..." The hiss, though soft, cut through the noises of battle. Harry took half a step back, but forced himself to remain steady as Lord Voldemort swept through the ranks of Death Eaters as Moses through the sea. His eyes glinted red as he sneered.

"We duel for the end. It's been foretold," Harry responded. He stepped forward, trying to block the image of Rachel crumpling to the ground from his mind. As he passed between Ron and Draco, each reached out and clapped a hand on his shoulder in a silent wish for the end to come. 

The rest of the battle seemed to have stopped to watch the Dark Lord and the Boy Who Lived face off for the last time. "A duel for Fate, then," Voldemort hissed. And it began, Harry dodging the "_Expelliarmus!_" without a moment's thought.

Harry didn't send back a curse, only kept his wand trained on Voldemort, waiting for him to utter the words. The magic had to be conserved. If the Dark Lord thought that Harry couldn't fight back with magic, it was all for the better in the end.

The brevity of the duel shocked even Harry. Voldemort let out a sharp laugh and formed the words. "_Avada Ked -_"

Harry's response was instantaneous. "_Aedifico cavum!_" he shouted, pushing the words out nearly simultaneous to the final "_-avra_" of Voldemort's Killing Curse. And just as Dumbledore had promised in his pensieve, the two spells met in a clash of green and gold, twining and sparking. 

The effect was magnificent, as the point of contact between the magics of the two wands slowly grew in size and moved closer to Voldemort. The Dark Lord was straining against it, but the force behind the Corners' magic was more than even the Lord of Darkness could supply. The point widened and swirled, shifting forms into a man-sized opening which slowly and surely advanced on Voldemort until, finally, there was no place for him to dodge to. With a shriek of agony, the twining sparks of green and gold swirled around his form and held him firmly in place. The immense power of the spell sent sparks flying in all directions and a slight wind whipping leaves and dried grass to join Voldemort in his prison.

The Dark Lord was trapped. There was only one question left.

Harry glaced back at Hermione, panic etched into his face as he felt the magic of the spell being drained from the massive energy Dumbledore's spell required to stay open. "Hermione... how do we close it?"

A/N: Next time: Climax and Epilogue. I'll be posting them one after another, with A/N's in a separate end chapter. And just for safety... ::the author primes up her bombshelter::

Role of Honour: heath and sar (Not evil NOW, maybe... but Sunday afternoon, when I post the last chapters, you may be...), vicci (Just wait... you'll see soon enough...), smile7499 (Got tissues?), Logical Nonsense (I updated fast!), Pathetic Invader (Well... just a wee bit of sarcasm... actually, I think it's kinda cute ::wink::), sunnycouger (The wheel turns as the wheel wills!), silverarrows (I love Minerva to death, but... if she tried to perform the charm, it would fail anyways. Harry made a bad choice on that un), Karna (::snicker:: It's not necessarily friendship, it's trust. After seeing Draco with Ginny, and the way he wants to protect her, Harry knows he can trust Draco implicitly. Make sense?), S.Maldiva (::laughs:: of course! It started with Draco, and thus it must end), ljp (I like Sevvie. I'm writing a Sev-centric story... more details in the last author note on all that, though).


	34. Where Chains Will Never Bind You

A/N: Hold onto your hats. ::The author slinks away and locks herself into a secure, undisclosed location.::

Chapter Thirty-Three — Where Chains Will Never Bind You

"Take my hand, and lead me to salvation

Take my love, for love is everlasting

And remember the truth that once was spoken

To love another person is to see the face of God."

-Les Miserables, "Epilogue"

Sunday, November 16, 2003

"Hermione... how do we close it?" She met his gaze, mind blanking suddenly as to any answer. Harry's words rang through the watching Death Eaters, all seeming to be focused on the spectacle of their Lord imprisoned within the nexus of the spell.

Hermione looked to Harry, then over to the whirling vortex which was still pulling bits of dried grass and whipping wind into its midst. She could feel her magical reserves being tapped, slowly being drained by the power of the nexus before them. Every manner of magical response to the problem flitted through her head, but none seemed to be the right one. _Finite Encantatem_ would end the spell completely and loose Voldemort into the world again... _Aromohola_ worked only on locks. The seconds ticked by and she looked back to Harry, frantic. "I don't know."

Before the sound of her words died away, she heard a battle cry within the Death Eater ranks and steadied her wand, turning to face the oncoming wizards — and keep them away from Harry.

George closed back into formation, turning slightly to take on the Death Eaters closing from all sides. It hadn't worked. "_Expelliarmus!_" A Death Eater was tossed aside by the force of the spell, and he ducked a hex in response. 

It hadn't worked. Dumbledore had failed them. It was likely this battle would be his last then, as it became harder and harder to draw on his magic to cast any spell at all. Harry's vortex was using up so much... and when each of the Corners had been sucked dry, Voldemort would probably be set free. Either that, or they'd be killed by Death Eaters first.

And then the first spell hit him, a slicing spell that cut across his thigh and sent him to his knees in a howl of pain. He couldn't dodge anymore, but if his magic was enough to keep the vortex open for just a little while longer, so Hermione could find the answer... maybe his death might be worth it.

Ron heard his brother's cry of pain but forced himself to keep from turning and running to help. He had enough on his hands as it was. Ron and Draco were fighting side by side near the swirling green and gold sparks of Voldemort's prison. Though only a few paces apart, they'd managed to not speak since they'd left the castle, and then it was only a curt "good luck" from each side.

The magic was being drained faster, he noticed. Either Harry's reserves had run out completely, or George was dead. With a cry of anger, Ron sent a bulky Death Eater hurtling against the side of Voldemort's prison. There was a flash of white and the man was flung away — though Voldemort's prison was intact.

"Damnit, Weasley, don't mess with the spell!" Malfoy snapped, turning for just a moment to berate his old enemy.

And turned away, Draco didn't see the slim Death Eater coming up behind him. Ron let out a shout.

With a cry from Ron, Harry watched as his friend sent an opponent flying into the nexus spell. The jolt of white-hot magic which blasted through the connected spells sent Harry's mind into action, even as he ignored Draco yelling and Ron shouting. When the jolt had hit, the incessant drain of magic had halted for just a moment. Though he kept his wand trained on Voldemort, keeping the spell active, he pushed the stresses of the battle from his mind and tried to focus, tried to remember what he'd been taught all those years ago at Hogwarts... nothing seemed obvious, nothing seemed to make sense to end it all.

To end it all.

And Harry knew.

Draco turned from Ron's frantic shout to find himself mere inches from a Muggle gun. His eyes widened and he looked up into the masked face of the Death Eater threatening him, barely conscious of the fact that the Death Eater he'd been dueling had turned his sights on Weasley instead. The one with the gun slowly reached up with her other hand and slid mask and hood from her face, dropping them to the ground.

Narcissa. "Mum?" he gasped softly, chest tightening with filial emotion he hadn't realized was still there.

"When Lord Voldemort rules, I'll track down Blaise and that bastard child of yours and make sure the heir of the Malfoy line is raised without your notions of betrayal. Your father's name will live on — you aren't needed anymore." She pulled a lever on the thing, making a loud and ominous click.

Confusion and shock ran through his mind. "Blaise? What? Mum, Blaise is pregnant with Fred's son."

The look of disbelief on her face was frozen as a familiar voice called out "_Stupefy!_" from behind him and sent his mother toppling to the ground, the gun flying out of her hand and firing into the ground with it's impact. 

Draco turned to see Ron smirking at him broadly. He opened his mouth to either thank or insult him — he wasn't sure which — when he turned just enough to see the determination on Potter's face. "Harry!"

"Harry!" Hermione spun around at Malfoy's cry and was surprised to find her friend looking right at her as she protected George's unconscious form.

The battle seemed to stop. "Make sure James knows everything."

She could only scream as Harry turned and ran toward the place where the magic of Voldemort's spell and his own converged. 

And as he hit, a surge of white flashed blindingly across the fields.

Ginny heard a scream, Hermione's, from the center of the battle. Standing on the steps of Hogwarts to backup Snape's spells, she could see little of the action happening below. But the scream sent her walking forward several steps, yearning to cross the battlefield to go to her brothers, her friend, and her lover. 

She pivoted to beg Headmaster Snape for permission to leave him as the blinding white light flashed through the air. Ginny met the Headmaster's cold gaze for just a moment, until the man let out a wail of agony and fell to his knees.

He was clutching his left arm to his chest as he shrieked in pain. She heard the echoes of the Death Eaters as they joined his cries.

There was only one answer for it, then. The Dark Lord was dead.

But then Snape grew silent and stopped moving. "Oh, Gods... Draco," Ginny breathed, turning and dashing across the field toward the middle of the fray, letting one of the professors handle Snape.

The Death Eaters all seemed to have wilted where they'd stood, passed out from sharing the pain of their Lord's death. Ginny zeroed in on one white-blond head in moments and, ignoring Hermione and her brothers standing over something nearby, fell to her knees next to his body.

She ripped away his left sleeve and let out a strangled gasp of shock. No Mark of skull and snake marred the warm, perfect flesh. She could feel the pulse of blood in his veins and, heart light, turned her wand on him. "_Enervate._"

Pale eyes flickered open to meet her darker ones and Draco pushed himself up to throw his arms around Ginny. "It's over, love... it's all over..."

"You're alive! We're alive!" she sobbed out, refusing to turn from his smiling face.

"Harry did it," Draco whispered. And then he stopped short, smile slipping from his face. "Oh, no. Harry." He shot to his feet, dragging Ginny with him and pulled her over to the crowd of three in the midst of the battlefield.

Hermione stared silently down to the body lying at her feet. He looked peaceful, almost, his face looking years younger in death. She knelt down to reach out and touch his cheek, and felt George's hand on her shoulder, giving a squeeze of comfort. "You did it, Harry," she whispered. "You saved us."

The savior, but at such a price...

The Boy Who Lived was dead.


	35. Epilogue - The Boy Who Lived

Epilogue — The Boy Who Lived

"When I grow to old to dream

I'll have you to remember

When I grow to old to dream

Your love will live in my heart."

-Nat "King" Cole, "Too Old to Dream"

November 16, 2012

At dawn on the Day of Remembrance, fourteen Weasleys, four Malfoys, and one Potter assembled on the front lawn of Hogwarts as they'd done for the past nine years. As one, the group entered the white marble memorial, tall and shining gold in its Grecian splendour in the November dawn. The circular interior of the memorial shone in its own magical light. Along the smooth, unbroken marble wall the thousands of names of the victims and heroes of the War were etched into the stone in gilded gold. In the center of the gleaming white masterpiece were the five flames to the war heroes, kept burning constantly by magic — Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Fred Weasley, Sirius Black and, in the center, Harry Potter.

It was a perfect press moment, as always. Photographers snapped shots of Minister of Magic Arthur Weasley running his fingers across the names of his sons etched into the wall and stood in respectful silence as the three oldest children performed their duties. William Percival Malfoy placed a white rose below the plaques of each of the Five Heroes. Frederick George Weasley, Jr. followed suit, though the rose he placed beneath his father's plaque was red. And James Sirius Potter went last, putting a red rose first on the plaque of Sirius Black and finally on his own father's. The photographers took pictures of the three boys standing solemnly before their families, and finally left the Weasley clan in peace.

Hermione looked around at the rest of the family, as they were all left to mourn. Arthur and Molly still looked well, despite the years of happiness taken away by the loss of three sons. Charlie and his wife quietly told the stories of each of the uncles of their two children, as was their own tradition. Draco and Ginny held their children close as he rolled up his left sleeve to tell his own story of war. Ron and his new wife, an American named Amy, stood slightly apart as he gave Amy her first introduction to the traditions of November 16. Blaise and her son stood next to Fred's flame and talked quietly, despite the woman's tears. And George stood back, as was customary, to leave Hermione to remember Harry in her own way while he told about the war to their children.

All the children. Each and every one of them could grow up without fear of Voldemort appearing at their homes to take their families and friends away. Hermione stepped over to stand beside the flame dedicated to Harry and rested her hand on her adopted son's shoulder. "How are you doing, James?"

"I'm okay," the ten-year-old replied. "It's just really weird, still. Aunt Hermione, am I anything like Dad was?"

She smiled, ruffling his curly black hair. "Yes. You're an awful lot like your Dad. And I bet next year when you go to Hogwarts, you'll be a Gryffindor just like him. Why don't you go over and ask Uncle Ron about the first time we both met your Dad?" James grinned in reponse, green eyes twinkling in a manner so reminicent of Harry that she couldn't keep the tears back as he dashed over to talk to Ron and Amy.

Hermione sunk to her knees next to the plaque. She'd been to his grave before, buried over in Cincinnati, Ohio beside his wife as Harold Black, but nothing seemed to connect her to the memories so much as this simple plaque on this fateful day. "He's just like you, Harry. He's starting Hogwarts next year. George thought about sending him to Beaubaxton so neither of us would have to teach him, but we decided that he has to go to Hogwarts. He's your son, isn't he? He's had a real childhood, Harry. Just like we didn't."

She fell silent. Looking down at the gleaming white plaque, she reached out to touch the name. She remembered — all the pranks, all the joys and fears, all the heartbreak and triumph, all the life he'd lived and the terror he'd faced; all the things which had ripped his youth away, along with hers. And Hermione wept for the loss of her childhood, running her fingertips over the gilded inscription carved deep into the smooth, white marble.

Harold James Potter

July 31, 1980 — November 16, 2003

The Boy Who Lived

The Martyr Who Saved

"And the battle's just begun

There's many lost but tell me who has won?

The trenches dug within our hearts

And mother's children — brothers, sisters torn apart!"

-U2, "Sunday, Bloody Sunday"


End file.
